Passed hand to hand , the wishes , the dreams , the hopes of an entire nation sent
to War , a score of old men leading our boys to die , while we watch in horror , in
pain , in grief , the disbelief that we had to lose so many boys , their eyes so young
so bright , so full of hope , the fight so long , so sad , the pain so bad , the wounds
so deep until at last our young men sleep in their makers arms again , their names carved in stone , never to come home , never to touch our tears again . . . .
lest we forget , lest we grow old , our hearts must never be so cold , we must not run
and hide , we must remember them , the boys who died , let it not be in vain , let
us not forget , the pain , the cries , the agonies , the braveries , the heros , and the
smiles , the time that was so long aga , across so many miles in a land so bright so
green caught in a place just in between hope and lies , we must remember still ,
must promise that we always will touch their hearts while we still can , remember ,
friends . . . remember . . . the boys who died , who lived , who cried . . . |
