And from the graves, where names were carved in <br />stone, came a mournful Ballad, of life gone by. <br /> <br />A Ballad sang by mothers, whose children left behind, <br />and left to sing their ballads, of tears that did remain. <br /> <br />And what of Fathers Ballad, whose job was not complete, <br />who died and sang his song, of things that could not be. <br /> <br />In a smaller voices, still weeping and confused, the children <br />sang their Ballad, of parents never knew. <br /> <br />And in some far off place, a Ballad did come fourth, of all <br />the deaths that happened, that wasn't meant to be. <br /> <br />A soldiers painful Ballad, did seemed so unjust, of the <br />war that finally killed him, in a land he never knew. <br /> <br />The Ballad, of unknown, thou human, none the less, <br />were buried here alone, with not a one to care. <br /> <br />In the quiet of a cemetery morn, the Ballad of <br />the dead, echoes silently across green grass, <br />and through the granite stones. <br /> <br />It makes one wonder, about the Ballad of the dead, <br />and what will be our song...when we are finally gone. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />© Joe Fazio<br /><br />(brief renderings) Joe Fazio<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-hear-voices-3/
