echoxero

FIDDLER'S GREEN
author unknown

Halfway down the road to Hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good 'ole time canteen.
And this eternal resting place,
Is known as Fiddler's Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell,
The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine.
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen,
Dismount at Fiddler's Green.

Though some go curving down the trail,
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell,
'Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddler's Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head,
And go to Fiddler's Green.