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Upon this hallowed ground where now only wild poppies grow,
Noble youth of hostile armies once met, foe facing foe.
Old men who knew the roar of cannon and the muskets' rattle,
Now returned as aged' veterans to the peaceful field of battle.

In the bloom of youth, were they, yet filled with hate and scorn,
Now they met to reject all such passions and with the others mourn.
To heed the mournful pleas of phantom souls who yet linger there,
And heal the scars of war, the bonds of brotherhood repair.

With shuffling gait, old men took a melancholy walk around,
Each re-living the horror of that savage battleground.
They recalled clutching men to their breasts as they died.
Years of pent-up emotions couldn't be held inside - they cried.

Old foes embraced begging forgiveness, they meant no ill.
They merely did their duty, fulfilling their nation's will.
None but these have known the worst that man can do to man.
Alas, 'tis youth who must abide such folly since time began.

Gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Now beckoned for peace that we shall know war no more.
Former foes they were, now each pledging to strive for peace,
Praying that The Golden Rule will prevail and all strife shall cease.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

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