Member Poem

Flowers ’round a fresh grave,
Whispers of the song,
Bells ring loud ‘round the town,
Mourners gather in the nave,
All happiness is clear forgotten,
By and by, round and round.
The preacher gives his finest speech,
Tear ducts open again to leak,
Callers bring their empathy,
Tonight not a single soul sleeps sound.
Broken is the frigid soil,
Where the soldier-boy is laid,
Too far under to be in the toil.
Flowers afresh all around.

Flowers wilting round the grave,
Buried are the whispers of the song,
The dull bells ring through the town,
Decreasing mourners in the nave,
Happiness no longer forgotten,
By and by, round and round.
The preacher gives an empty Sunday speech,
Tear ducts closed, scarce the desire to leak,
Callers bring their sympathy,
Tonight scarcely a soul isn’t sleeping sound.
Overgrown is the soil,
Where the soldier-boy is laid,
Too far under to be heard, it is said.
Flowers are scarce all around.

Bare is the lonely grave,
Forgotten are the whispers of the song,
The bells are silent ‘round the town,
No mourners in the nave,
Sadness is forgotten,
By and by, round and round.
The preacher is too weak to give his speech,
Tear ducts never more to leak,
Callers come up empty,
Tonight the world is sleeping sound.
Broken is the stone resting on the soil,
Where the soldier-boy is laid,
Too far under to be heard, it is said.
Bare is the lonely grave all around.

On summer's eve came a man wandering,
Near the creek, where the birds sing,
He saw the forgotten grave,
The soldier-boy beneath the broken stone,
He sighed and gave a little wave,
Then left the soldier-boy all alone