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The Greening Fields

They fade in Autumn as
the rose at season’s end.
Into lifeless browns they
flow, gloried lives now stilled.

Theirs was the victory and
the heart of song and verse.
Sent to chance the hand of fate
and fight another‘s quest.

When lived beyond their use,
They’re sent to reminisce
the flags unfurled and comrades lost,
in fields now verdant green.

With crack of gun and trumpet sound
They enter fields anew. With banner
passed to widowed hands as
bone succumbs to spade.

Where now the hero days of
crisp salutes and medals pinned?
Where now victor’s honor when
staid legions but to memory fade?

Only naive silence now exists
from those who yet remain.
Who endured not, and remember not.
the cycle of greening fields.

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