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How they rest in mournful numbers,
beneath the earth's green blanket slumbers,
row on row through endless summers;
they led us through our darkest hours;
a sad refrain, "You were Ours."
On quiet days when Spring is nigh,
and breezes through these graveyards sigh,
loved ones kneel, pray and cry.
Upon these graves, beneath the flowers;
in memory, "You were Ours."
And in the stillness of graveyard air,
echo voices of those buried there.
Soft battle cries and trumpets blare.
Through heat and cold and summer showers;
eternally, "You were Ours."
Was it fate or destiny
for them to die instead of me?
In life or death is one more free?
In unity a reply I hear,
from those who gave their lives so dear,
who now reside with Heavenly Powers:
"We gave our lives `cause:
Brian J. Muegge
© 1999
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