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The Cemetery Glade

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

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