Memorial Day
The flowers all are folded
We children used to wear,
The garlands that we molded
Are withered in our hair.
We’ve given up the battle
Of flowering the world,
We’d rather hear rifles rattle
And see red flags unfurled.
Soldier’s furloughs are better
Than children’s holidays
Though shrapnel-wounds are wetter
And redder, than bouquets.
For Mars returns and bloodies
The sky and sand beneath,
The summer rainfall muddies
The white cross and the wreath.
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