Ode to the Thirteenth.

Archaeologists digging at an old temple recently discovered an ancient tablet at the bottom of a sacrificial well. The tablet has now been cleaned up and translated - I thought you might like to read the contents:

O Venus, hear a mother's plea,
And bring the Thirteenth home to me,
Please keep this flame for them to see,
A light to guide them home.
They're coming now in straggling bands,
Across the sims of foreign lands,
Reach out your arms and hold their hands,
So they are not alone.

The battle's won, the danger's gone,
Their duty drove the Legion on,
They even crossed the Rubicon,
They could not turn again.
They've given all that they could give,
O Venus, let them all still live,
I'm pleading in the vocative,
Guard all those that remain.

Now Roma's safety's in the bag,
Please lift them if they start to sag,
Protect them from the chronic lag,
As they return exhausted.
Attach warm helmets to their chin,
Help them to find replacement skin,
And calm them when they can't log in,
Or rez their lovely horses.

Make sure they have some room to sit,
They're coming home to be re-fit,
Their work is done, they didn't quit,
The enemy surrendered.
The Thirteenth now, its centuries three,
Its Amazons and its Cavalry,
Its Celts, and its Marines at sea,
Will always be re-rendered.