Young are our dead <br />Like babies they lie <br />The wombs they blest once <br />Not healed dry <br />And yet - too soon <br />Into each space <br />A cold earth falls <br />On colder face. <br />Quite still they lie <br />These fresh-cut reeds <br />Clutched in earth <br />Like winter seeds <br />But they will not bloom <br />When called by spring <br />To burst with leaf <br />And blossoming <br />They sleep on <br />In silent dust <br />As crosses rot <br />And helmets rust.<br /><br />Spike Milligan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soldiers-at-lauro/
