Walking through these war-trodden lands, 

the blood of many on my hands.

Shoulder to shoulder with my few men,

losses we cannot comprehend. 

 

The place we once called home, 

now bare to the bone. 

In ashes, my family tree,

my children, gone for eternity.

 

Buried six feet under,

I sang my final lullaby.

Interrupted by the thunder,

I bid my last goodbye. 

 

Guised by the falling rain, 

I put on my mask once again. 

Taking on the mantle of a commander, 

we set up the makeshift alter. 

 

A final drink to my comrades, 

I hope you never wake from your slumber.

A toast to your escape from this life,

the wine that was once so sweet, now tasted so bitter.

 

This poem is based on the Three Kingdoms Period (220-280). It is written by a commander who returns home with the remaining of his soldiers after a pyrrhic victory. He offers a last cup of wine to his comrades, in memory of their sacrifice.