A Tinsel Prize

In 1812 Napoleon’s La Grande Armee entered Moscow, believing they had won the war, and shortly thereafter, starving and cold, the Grande Armee set out for home in the dead of winter. Very few made it back to France.

The snow so deep, the wind so cold
The city far away
There’s wealth and food there we were told
Press on another day!
We struggle on, the horses die
And still the city sits
Fair against the winter sky
So far from Austerlitz
We gained the prize, another dawn
But neither wealth nor food
The city burned, the people gone
The men in murderous mood
A tinsel prize, a barren dream
We starved and headed home
Through snow and sleet and cold that seem
To mock each onion dome
We died by roadside, died by wood
We watched the death toll grow
We ate our horses when we could
Then lay down in the snow