Such a light
and such a crystal-dripping mist,
pale gold and silver green the sheen
of this morning world,
silence of birdsong and
dry leaves falling, weighted down by dew.
and we bow our heads, thinking we remember,
dredging up a vague abstraction of tears
for men we never knew,
but knowing we ought to weep.
We bow our heads and manage not to hear
the guns of leisure, still killing,
still having their cruel fun.
Instead, Sacrifice, we say sagely in solemn tones,
gave their lives so we might live in freedom.
A silent war rages now
with no conscription,
no grave consequence for objectors,
the orders simple, just stay at home.
And even this we refuse.
The weeping I hear fills my heart;
It comes from those endless rows
of endless dead, the men
who never had the choice.