The young dead soldiers do not speak. <br /> <br />Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses: <br />who has not heard them? <br /> <br />They have a silence that speaks for them at night <br />and when the clock counts. <br /> <br />They say: We were young. We have died. <br />Remember us. <br /> <br />They say: We have done what we could <br />but until it is finished it is not done. <br /> <br />They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished <br />no one can know what our lives gave. <br /> <br />They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours, <br />they will mean what you make them. <br /> <br />They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for <br />peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say, <br />it is you who must say this. <br /> <br />We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning. <br />We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.<br /><br />Archibald MacLeish<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-young-dead-soldiers-do-not-speak/
