A Soldier's Grave In Normandy

I will board a plane and visit the grave of that brave soldier who left his country to defend the principles of liberty banned by a heartless dictator who praised a pure race. In ocean-washed Normandy the fierce battle went on for days, American and British invaded the desolate beach, here the Normans called their home eventually, and leaving Sweden and the glaciers behind them in March, their bellicose plans were temporarily put on hold... until they found free land in a milder place called Southern Italy. I found the grave of my buddy Albert and my weeping might wake him from his long sleep; it's November and clouds seem like sheep going to their pasture before winter sets in with vengefulness, that'll make all graves shake... no, it's not Resurrection Day, only an admonition. No snow has fallen yet on the granite graves, all the names of the fallen soldiers can be read clearly, but doomed to silence they aren't spoken and proclaimed heroes; here, sorrow prevails with its essence... is this a monument built to the bravery of thousands, forgotten by memory, but not by the ones who were saved by the bravest warriors who ever lived? Flowers left on this grave will whiter and dispersed by the frigid wind will have the same fate of the leaves floating and coming down to rest on frosted meadows not yet buried in glistening whiteness and in a solitude bitterly awaited. Who has never pondered death in this sombrous and sorrowful place separated by human remoteness, has never reflected on his own; Albert's death was a sacrifice for freedom to give others a chance at being free when terror reigned through Europe... only defeated by the courageous valor of soldiers who is remembered by me in this poem of perennial hope!