If these boots could talk they’d tell a tale, of fighting the King’s men in the woods and trail,
Of charges at dawn, and retreats at dusk, of marches in snow without any stockings,
Of endless lines of Patriots marching to the front along pathways, or heads held low from the bitter string of defeat.
Of fighting brothers both blue and grey, to forge the metal that would indeed someday.
Define a nation that would truly be free, though canons may be king... no victory without the Infantry.
Man advanced and mechanized, those fiery beasts increased in size, while the Infantry remained the same.
This time the call the Kiser’s fall and off to Germany, to fight for every yard in trenches under baron trees.
Again the queen, for the canon is king when wholesale death is the order of the day.
For the valiant Infantrymen would make the sacrifice to silence the evil canon roar.
Peace would not be long, for again a madman would be loosed for his short space.
When the nation could no longer resist, the first ones in were on desert sands.
They would take the beach, and extend the reach of history’s most awesome force.
Some by ship and boat, and some by wing or chute, some bravely climbed the cliff of death.
To pave the way for the advancing ones to seal the Furher’s fate, and end the Axis reign.
And then it was the east, an ice cold beast where in boots the feet would freeze.
Where masses of men would charge the frozen mountain trails into the heart of the fire.
Where a life was cheap, and the cause not clear, this enemy frantically would fight to the death.
Still in the east, but this time south, it would be the heat and not the freeze to cause the insects to roar.