Gardens of Stone

Behold the gardens of stone,
precision rows in verdant green;
upon every bloom, a name,
every name a whisper
down the corridors of time.

Names -- spoken in accolade,
chiseled in stone, decorated,
planted with care  -- look upon them,
young men, old soldiers, every one with
different minds, different tastes; every one
a dream unrealized.

Clerks and salesmen,
librarians and cooks, from
every walk of life, and yet
traveling one road:
believers in their cause.

Row upon row of
distant memories, tended
by soldiers in pomp and respect,
every bloom watered by tears.  Names,
names of the fallen.  Whisper them
one more time, in the Hall of Heroes.

DWD 09