A silent witness crests the hill
to place a kiss on cove
where bloody rain once fell.
The sob and clubbing fractured now –
hearts beat on distant shores
where brothers wait with shaking hands
to charge into the dawn.
Across the Sea of Helle they came,
from many different ports; to lay down cold
on foreign stone, enlisted on some other front.
Flags hang low and I am borne
by the bugler’s mournful calling,
as first light joins eternal flame
and “stand to!” cleaves the morning.