Submitted by: Thomas Dynneson

Category: Poetry

The Cemetery Glade

In the spring the birds will sing

Flying high across a clear sky carried aloft on a feathered wing

Not caring about the boys who will die

Beside their comrades in a battle cry

Brave boys just out of school

Full of hope and the golden rule

Their cause is just and in courage they trust

Some of their broken bodies will soon lie in the dust

Mankind has always gone to war

Their purpose is not just to settle an old score

The price they pay is in pain and blood

Young bodies stacked high in the soggy mud

Glory is not the only name of the game

Though young men often thirst after its fame

But glory is like a fleeting illusion

It never stays long enough to render a lasting solution

War is a killing season that will come and go

It runs its course against a determined foe

It brings to young men a season of woe

Whose broken bodies will lie in a monumental row

The pain of War leaves an indelible mark

Not just in statues or in a cemetery park

Brave men fight to fend off shame

From a foe with a contrary claim

The love of country will never fade

As long as young men lie in a cemetery glade

Their glory is in their determination

To fight any foe that threatens their nation

So in the spring we remember our lost youth

Young men who died in a moment of truth

They live in hearts and call us to remember

They died for us before their September.

The Professor

About the author:

Retired Professor who served in the Air Force during the Korean War and Cold War

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