Quick or Dead
I wake with aches and pains, bones creaking and popping,
roll over and put on my kilt, time to get ready this morning.
Put on pot of coffee, make a little breakfast,
put on my armor and weapons, time for battle at last.
Young bucks run to the line, ready to steal all the glory,
old ones like me take our time, we know this will be gory.
The lines collide, and blood runs in crimson rivers,
the screams of the injured, they will give you shivers.
The day moves on quickly, and now the battle is ended,
more pains are gathered, my kit needs mended.
Newly seasoned men come, seeking conversation,
and many remark on my skills, and ability to hasten.
My remarks are few, and straight to the head,
"There are only two types in battle, the quick and the dead."