Battles lost and battles won
yet nothing changes but the names
of martyred sons and widows newly made.
Over there, come spring, they'll laugh and sing and play
as they have for forty springs. And, they won't ask,
'Whose house is this? Whose field?
Whose tree is this that gives me shade?'
And, over here, should they ask,
we'll gladly answer. .And, until they do,
we'll barely live but bravely die.
Still, nothing will change
but the names.
2 comments:
That is beautiful. Did you write this?
yes. everything on this blog is by me
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