| In Hopes That None Forget |
| Whittled crosses mark our rest As Earth secures us in her breast, And soft-faced children touch the sign And wonder why old father time Would leave us poor within our grave Not realizing our lives were paved, With treasures of the lasting kind. To the guns which brought our lives to bear Belonged a cold, unflinching stare But the stare was well returned For the fierce warriors in us burned. Fallen leaves framed my face But the tree could see my place In heaven had been earned. In hopes that fathers tell the tale To soft-faced children, small and pale, I�ll let this cross stand close to me, Reminding soldiers of that tree whose branches surely shed a tear Then caught my life and placed it here For God and all to see. |