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We, the unwilling,
led by the unknowing,
are doing the impossible
for the ungrateful.
We have done so much,
for so long,
with so little,
we are now qualified to do anything
with nothing
here were thirty million English who talked of England's might,
There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night.
They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade;
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade.
They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long,
That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song.
They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door;
And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four!
They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey;
Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they;
And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes
The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites."
They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong,
To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song;
And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed,
A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade.
They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back;
They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack;
With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed,
They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade.
The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said,
"You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't dead.
An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell;
For we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an, we thought we'd call an' tell.
"No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you take an' write
A sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o' the fight?
We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 'em how?
You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now."
The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn.
And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn."
And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame,
Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame.
O thirty million English that babble of England's might,
Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night;
Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they made-"
And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade!
__________________ SEX STORY TEXT Exotic Material for Adult Websites Available for part time (project or ongoing) work ...
Originally posted by TheEnforcer@May 27 2005, 11:18 AM Thanks to PD as well as Anthony, even though he's a squid :P , and my fellow members of Uncle Sams Misguided Children like dantheman!!
Semper Fi!
__________________
Step 1: Join NSCash and grab your link codes.
Step 2: ???
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Lots of graditude to each and every person who served... it fucking amazes me how so many don't have the respect to give it a second thought... personally I don't think I could even imagine the reality of going through most any of the things that people who have served have been a part of. My hats off to you all and THANK YOU
Originally posted by venturi@May 29 2005, 06:11 AM We Marines are just glad that there are a few decent Squids available to chauffeur us around the globe to wherever the fighting is. It's sooo damned hard finding a good driver these days...
Y'all are the greatest Cruise Line ever!
We're just glad to have you guys watching the gates.
In all the history of the Navy, there has not been one incident of a gate attacking anyone and I chalk that up to the Few, The Proud....
05-27-2005
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