Oblivious to everything they just keep walking by
Along this path to Heaven where kneeling grievers cry
They’re talking to their loved ones, counting headstones as they pass
The crumbled names lie split in two, toppled on the grass.
On its own, a marbled wall, its curving stone so cold
And opposite, an obelisk, stands proudly for the bold
Each name carved out with gratitude of local men who fell
Now they’re resting peacefully, these young men died in Hell.
Just a name, no epitaph, no dates, no time, no place
My mind’s eye shows me photographs, I try to place a face
Surrounded by a privet in a courtyard of York stone
Once they fought with thousands, now they lie alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem