The column winds on snake-like, <br /> <br />Through blistering, treeless spaces; <br /> <br />The hovering gray-black dust clouds <br /> <br />Tint in ghoulish shades our faces. <br /> <br /> <br />The sweat of muddied bubbles, <br /> <br />Trickles down the horses rumps; <br /> <br />The saddles creak, the gunboots chafe, <br /> <br />The swinging holster bumps. <br /> <br /> <br />At last the halt is sounded. <br /> <br />The outpost trots away; <br /> <br />The lines of tattered pup-tents rise, <br /> <br />We've marched another day. <br /> <br /> <br />The rolling horses raise more dust, <br /> <br />While from the copper skies <br /> <br />Like vultures, stopping on the slain, <br /> <br />Come multitudes of flies. <br /> <br /> <br />The irate cooks their rites perform <br /> <br />Like pixies 'round the blaze, <br /> <br />The smoking grease wood stings our eyes, <br /> <br />Sun-scorched for countless days. <br /> <br /> <br />The sun dips past the western ridge, <br /> <br />The thin dry air grows cold, <br /> <br />We shiver through the freezing night, <br /> <br />In one thin blanket rolled. <br /> <br /> <br />The night wind stirs the cactus, <br /> <br />And shifts the sand o'er all, <br /> <br />The horses squeal, the sentries curse, <br /> <br />The lean coyotes call.<br /><br />General George S Patton Jnr<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/marching-in-mexico/
