Classic Poem

Towns there were in Flanders,
Towns in Argonne,
Like meadow-water,
Quiet in the sun.

You know what befell them,
Their aged, their young,
And how were put to silence
Carillons that swung.

When I reach Paradise
I shall seek a row
Of little towns of Flanders,
That perished, as you know.

There, at simple door-steps,
Safe, every one,
I shall see old folk
And children in the sun.

Lost things, trinkets,
Carillons a-chime,
I look to find them,
All in good time.