Where the clouds
went gray with the gloom of war,
You marched upon
a foreign land.
Where the sky
rained down a storm of steel,
You spilled blood
with pitiless hands.
Where the tranquil
songs of birds,
Bowed to the unheard
cries of men.
Where your fate
seemed so far away,
A faceless assassin
struck you then.
When I think of
the burden on my soul,
It brings me to
my knees;
That debt so heavy,
so unpayable.
The soldier who
died for me.
The most coveted
things of this Earth
Are but dust on
the altar of your grave.
For all my life
what can I give?
To a soldier who
died, stoic and brave.
Now that the wind
of death has blown cold,
Parching the flowers
in your garden divine,
Humbled by the
honor of that sacrifice, I ask:
Soldier, help
wither the weeds in mine.
BY: Matthew Winkler