"The Soldiers at Lauro"

Young are the dead
Like babies thy lie
The wombs they blest once
Not healed dry
And yet too soon
Into each space
A cold earth falls
On colder face.
Quite still they lie
These fresh reeds
Clutched in earth
Like winter seeds
But these will not bloom
When called by spring
To burst with leaf
And blossoming
They will sleep on
In silent dust
As crosses rot
And memories rust.

Author: Unknown
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