The children dance among the graves
And see the flowers, and see the little flags that wave
Bravely, against the clear blue sky.
Then they run and ask their mothers why
God made the fields of grass and stone.
Who is lying here, deep within the field,
Sleeping, without dreaming, still and so alone?
The mothers leave their gifts of flowers and tears,
Stones will crumble, grass will have its way.
Who will remember in the coming years?
Who will remember, in another day?
What will it matter why these soldiers died,
For duty, honor, or for foolish pride,
Or quietly, as all of us will yield
To lie in silence in the grassy field?