Nancy L. Meek


O, step between these frozen stones…
markers gracing our warriors dead;
let not a boot disturb their bones
nor move a vein that for you bled;
for peaceful is this resting place
that shifts and crumbles on its own
and reconstructs each placid face
that once upon a time you’d known;
but no, not now, for here they lie
with quiet hands devoid of guns
their faces turned toward the sky
their eyes shut tight to rising suns
and ears that hear no more the sound
of mortars, screams and death
for where on earth but ‘neath the ground
can warriors get some bloody rest?