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I am the flickering shadow that haunts the Old School Square,
The lingering, echoing, bugle calls that fill the evening air,
I am the ghost of thousands smartly marching in the dawn,
The tramping, rhythmic sounds disturbing early, misty morn.
I am the memory of the countless, carefree, happy days,
The laughter and the fun that came so many different ways,
I am the sadness when that life too soon came to an end,
The knowledge, later on in life, there were no better friends.
I am the guardian of those who were there to guide and teach,
The patience and composure as young minds they tried to reach.
I am the recollection of upstanding military men,
The fine example of what real soldiers were, was there in them.
I am these things which will, in this place now, for all time be,
Though signs of that existence will fade from the memory,
The spirit of those who found a new life here will never die,
And in the fabric of this place, forever will reside.
Future generations living in this special place
May think they sometimes hear a sound, although they cannot trace
The source of this disturbance, it will very likely be
A ghostly bugle playing the "Lights Out" or "Reveille."
And I, the spirit of all these will haunt the leafy lanes,
Remembering forever as the sounds are heard again
Of regimental music floating on the evening breeze,
Gently fading into silence, ‘midst the rustling of the leaves.
A thousand lusty, youthful voices joining in as one,
And once again "The Reds" will resonate as it had done
In bygone years, and men now grey with age will nod and smile,
And live again those happy years, for just a little while.