Thou who saves shall be saved,
he said from raging battlefield.
Twenty three lives had he saved,
from war land killings looming large.
He swore to Lord to save his men,
to save his child in return.
The army man in the ruddy fields,
rushed to the hours he had saved!
Twenty three hours was all he had,
for the festive day of his own sweet child.
A limpid child, the summer's gift,
with an embrace melting the glaciers cold.
He groped his child,
with knight's strong arms.
A fighter father to his fighter son.
All his life the soldier sought,
his baby riding the warrior horse.
Stupefying heights, the way to glory,
to liberate and love his motherland more.
Yet the way had it that the son feared horses.
Momentous towering war horses.
When his Pa was riding war horses,
the heir was making sand castles!
Whilst that day he rode,
a moving horse, the man made horse.
On it saw the progeny, his father himself,
A roaring warrior on his way to glory.