I walk past each grave in turn,
Looking at each name,
A man stands before one the same in its tier,
A tear runs down his cheek,
Salutes the stone with his best,
I see him every year.
I look out to where the names are left,
New names are there those that fight today,
I leave these men to their rest.
How many more have to pay?
My shoulders begin to sag,
But raise again by a flutter,
I look up at the crossed red, white, and blue flag,
And under my breath for them a prayer that I mutter.
I look back at the names on the wall,
So many red with blood and pain,
I read each one in turn and where they did fall,
Until with a shock I see my own chiselled name.