Young man - mark them marching by,

Their medals catch the light.

Look and hold your head up high,

You'll see no finer sight.

Old men passing in their pride

Were once as young as you.

Now - as then - they're side by side,

But now they're growing few.

And should one chance to catch your eye,

Young man, don't look away;

In far-off fields their comrades lie,

But their ghosts march past today.