The crosses line up row on row,
sombre, silent, in the morn -
and in permanent sleep all those below
listen to the piper's early tune.

It matters not when they gave all,
when blood was spilled, which war, or where,
it matters just that they stood tall
and served that flag proudly flying there.

And so remember them, we must,
Too young to die and sadly missed.
Returned from flesh to richer dust,
And by love's tears, and raindrops, kissed.

I hope they hear the bugler's call
and lie not lonely in that earth,
cherished memories of those who that gave all,
remind those left of freedom's worth.

Bless them, bless them, bless them all,
Young men grown old by long left horrors,
who answered their country's desperate call
and kept those days in all their tomorrows.

So lay your wreaths and fly your flags
from fence, and gate, and tree.
Though remnants may be seeming rags
remember those who kept us free.

Rose Dempsey
May 30th 2010