by Regina
Come enter the gardens of stones,
this is what the centuries of
war has grown,
with brave offering of the blood
of the valiant,
the sparrows, the wrens,
their songs sweetly trill,
then the quiet, the speechlessness
of solitude,
of the mourning ones in their
soul's barren winter,
marble, granite, gives it's own
testimony in the many rows of
ivory headstones embraced,
wept upon, kissed.
The silence of the soldier's
once vibrant joy of youth of
the ages of eighteen, nineteen,
twenties,
The virtuosity of their commitment
to arms,
of their offering of their own lives,
in the seasons of perpetuity of
U.S. veterans cemeteries,
the soft sighs, whispers, tears
brimming in eyes,
in the eternity, the peace,
of the gardens of stone.