As the wind blows sweet,
Our comrades soften up,
They find directions through stars,
Hustle up to progress with speed,
Their gait light,
We march the distance prime,
Whistling our contingent tune,
Kettles brewing with Savory broth,
We quaff as we surge forth.
Miles to go with will to conquer,
The objectives to triumph,
We dither not.
The sand off was cheering,
At Target joint cry was in resonance,
Hence objective we realised.
Spirit of team banks on collective will,
With friends’ love we travel farther,
As if rivers and hills,
Flowers and paddles are softer,
Route becomes familiar,
The spread of span seems vivid.
As the mist shines,
On the soft surface the sunlight shows the approaching dusk,
Marchers’ fatigues fade away.
There could be no better place to rest than this,
All squatter around,
Objective having attained,
As if we were on it since we started and were aware.