In the year of eighteen-fifteen, the summer sun did rise, A clash of armies awaited 'neath the vast and open skies. Bonaparte’s forces gathered, marching bold and proud, In the heart of Belgium's fields, they drew a thunderous crowd.
Drums of war, echo loud, through valleys far and wide, At Waterloo, where fate would turn, and fortunes would collide. Bonaparte's dreams of empire and Wellington's steady hand, A battle fierce was brewing, for the future of the land.
On fields adorned with poppies, where brave men stood their ground, The scent of gunpowder lingered, in the air, a heavy sound. Wellington, the Iron Duke, with courage in his heart, Stood against the French advance, refusing to depart.
Voices rise above the din, the cries of the brave, In this storm of thunderous fire, they seek the glory's wave. Through mud and blood, they fight as one, under the flag they trust, For honor and for country, in valor they must bust.
The hallowed day it dawned anew, the banners flew so high, The armies clashed in fury, beneath the weeping sky. The charge of French cuirassiers, with sabers drawn and grim, Met Wellington's steadfast squares, the light began to dim.
As the great sun arched across, the fate became so clear, In history’s unyielding book, the echoes we now hear. Wellington stood firm and proud, the tides began to turn, While Bonaparte’s visions wavered, the fires of hope would burn.
Then came the fateful moment, the cavalry rode strong, But the rain-soaked fields of Waterloo would not relent for long. The cannon roared like thunder, the muskets barked their song, With every volley fired, the battle marched along.
Across the fields of Waterloo, their valor on display, The blood of brave men stained the earth, in the sorrow of the fray. The sun dipped low, the end in sight, the victor's call was near, With sacrifices made in hope, for freedom’s final cheer.
As smoke began to clear away, the remnants of the fight, Bonaparte's star once shining bright, fell silent in the night. Exiled to the island far, his empire came undone, While Wellington was hailed as man whose victory was won.
Though the guns have long since ceased, the stories still remain, Of courage shown through battles fought, in glory and in pain. At Waterloo, they stood their ground, their names forever known, In the echoes of the ages past, their legacy has grown.
So let us raise a glass to those who faced the brutal test, To honor all, both lost and won, who fought with heart and zest. In memory, we hold them close, their valor ever bright, At Waterloo, where history stood, we remember the fight.
Drums of war may fade away, but heroes never die, In the annals of our history, their spirits ever fly. Bonaparte and Wellington, in legends they abide, For on the fields of Waterloo, their destinies collide.
Heathen_AJ
