Monday, May 31, 2010
Memorial Day
Fallen Warriors
What ghosts walk these hallowed hills,
Where once the cry of battle reigned?
Who are these smoky misty forms that
By their blood this ground was stained?
Their cry of pain floats on the wind.
Echoing from the ridge,
Calling for aid and comfort, but alas,
The spans too wide to bridge.
Only God can help these souls who have
Fallen at the line,
Build no monument to these men, this
Ground shall be their shrine.
Let angels hover above the trees and
Guard these men of yore,
Kiss their cheeks and soothe their brow,
For death shall be no more.
What ghosts walk these hallowed hills,
Where once the cry of battle reigned?
Who are these smoky misty forms that
By their blood this ground was stained?
Their cry of pain floats on the wind.
Echoing from the ridge,
Calling for aid and comfort, but alas,
The spans too wide to bridge.
Only God can help these souls who have
Fallen at the line,
Build no monument to these men, this
Ground shall be their shrine.
Let angels hover above the trees and
Guard these men of yore,
Kiss their cheeks and soothe their brow,
For death shall be no more.
-- James Richardson
(thanks to Scott Bourne)
