James H. Smith


I stand upon this hill; tears of my living fill my eyes.
More families than can be counted will cry when they remember this place, this day.
Pray I that a flower shall grow, for each warrior that had to fall.
The clash of sword, the scream of man, remember all, remember all.

With hardly a silent sound, many young souls winged their way to God this day,
yet alone I stand on the hill, tears of loss, of useless loss, caress my face.
Young men never to grow old, they’re moving on, moving on.

More lights in the sky this night, as a new star flares bright for each warrior who fell.
Now stop? Listen… a rustling sound, as if, the wings of a thousand birds.
In the clouds, lights, Angels! Warriors in hand, the rustle of wings the only sound
Each soul cradled by an Angel, wings wrapped around.

Remember all, for not one soul upon this earth will long stay.
Stand I, silently, watching, remember the sound, remember the sound.
I stand not alone upon this hill, I live; I too have an Angel’s wings wrapped around.