They crossed at Trichardts drift in the early morning mist
and marched side by side beneath the rising sun.
Three miles of growing heat aching backs and weary feet,
as they trudged the winding trail toward the guns
They fought the urge to flee as they climbed through hillside scree
to join their fighting comrades at the top.
Snipers took their toll throughout this suicidal stroll
to take the hill from the Boers on Spion Kop
When at last the top was gained none of the enemy remained
and the trenches strangely empty of deceased.
But those trenches did incline to the Boer firing line
from two hills, one north and Green Hill to the east
The Khakis stood no chance in this bullet and shrapnel dance,
sudden death was the reward for their brave stand.
So many left this earth long before they proved their worth.
Now they lie forever in this foreign land
There=s a trench upon a hill where the ghosts of men live still
even though their bones have long since turned to dust.
They lay in death beside each other, beloved father, son and brother,
lie beneath Natal=s blue skies and tawny crust