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ODA 226 · 12-05-2007, 18:04

The pockets of our great coats full of barley--
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp--
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches whith the tramp.
A people, hardly marching--on the hike--
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until, on Vinegar Hill, the fatal conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August the barley grew up out of the grave.

Requiem for the Croppies by Seamus Heaney, 1967

12-05-2007, 18:04	#47
ODA 226 Quiet Professional Join Date: Jul 2006 Location: Germany Posts: 400	The pockets of our great coats full of barley-- No kitchens on the run, no striking camp-- We moved quick and sudden in our own country. The priest lay behind ditches whith the tramp. A people, hardly marching--on the hike-- We found new tactics happening each day: We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike And stampede cattle into infantry, Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown. Until, on Vinegar Hill, the fatal conclave. Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon. The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave. They buried us without shroud or coffin And in August the barley grew up out of the grave. Requiem for the Croppies by Seamus Heaney, 1967 __________________ Bitka Sve Rešava!
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