Colin F. Jones


Goodbye; an echo to be unheard,
Wasted, as now the withered bloom.
‘Twas sweet, the taste of treasured life
That died within a heart so soon.

I shall wither in my own regret
That I heard no baby cry…
The land unmarked, I never lived
And no one saw me die.

The bugles faint echo still resounds
‘Pon winds that caress your hair
‘Twas I who once stood tall and proud
Now it’s you, who stands and stares.

Remember me; for what you have
That you must yet increase
Is etched upon this soldier’s bones,
Who died in war for peace.