Epitaph Poem by Steve Hancock
Epitaph
A withered rose of solace
Lies strewn upon cold weathered stone
An epitaph to chivalrous heroes
Unforsaken but somehow unknown
Inscriptive names accumulate
To sounds of Lamented serenade
The killing fields are constant
Too rest another poor soul is laid
Tears permeate the decades
Heart rendered naked and raw
Tiny jewels of sacrifice
To the travesty that’s war
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4/24/2024 1:40:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A fitting epitaph to all the unknown dead