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(Another fantastical creation.  Kind of sad too.)

Upon the marshy hollows
Their feet make a sucking plop
As purest mud
Grabs at their boots
That are moldy to the laces

Beings of all sizes
March in a sturdy mob
Fat and thin with tall and short
All decrepit to our eyes
If we even wish to look

These beings of shadow
Cloaked in their mottled rags
Will march across the land
Until a dying breath
Escapes their cracking lips

Where do they march?
Nobody knows
We never think to ask
All we do is watch them march
Until they fade from life