In shadowed glades where freedom’s flame was quenched,
The blood of heroes stained the hallowed ground.
Through deeds of courage, bonds of fear were wrenched,
One hundred eighteen souls embraced the grave,
From tender youth to wise and weathered kin.
A doctor chose the gallant death, not slave,
As mercy’s pleas met hatred’s brutal grin.
The Taygetos weeps, the eagle mourns its sky,
Where mothers' tears and widows’ cries do wail.
The Spartan spirit soars, though bodies die,
For valour’s truth in time will yet prevail.
O traitorous masks that dealt such grievous scars,
Your shame shall fade, but they’ll live as the stars.
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