they catch our eye in every town
on country roads and city lanes
most adorn a stately lawn
others grace a peaceful shade
metal gates protect these stones
each of measured size and shape
some reflect the glow of dusk
and some the rosy light of dawn
in silent waves they stand erect
symbols of the young and brave
inscribed with names and vital dates
that fade as endless seasons pass
a pleasant scene in blocks of white
those even lines above the graves
but will the quarries yield enough
for all the youth we send to die
