Ode To The World's War Dead
Once I heard a tale that said, upon the path of life we tread
There are twists and turns, and brambles through which attempt to thread,
The way is dangerous, though down that path we head,
the dangers, passed, the eventual night we fight
Though through our one brief existence, the marrow of life is bled
We all see the first dawn, and the morn, and the light.
The haft of the Arrow, feathered with the Eagle's own plumes,
Life after death, many in the world assume
We claim we know humanity's past, our future too we presume
Many among us ignore that past,...