The cannons in the shadowed trees are mute;
by Barry Middleton
the autumn leaves yet shed a silent tear.
The war that ended many years ago,
has faded from the freshened atmosphere.
Now gentle flags that flutter on the graves,
recall the pain and blood where armies fell.
And multitudes of tombstones line the hill,
as somber spirits cast a ghostly spell.
Although I wonder what we failed to learn,
from endless wars where soldiers go to die,
mankind seems heedless of my fervent prayer,
yet hushed again by one more battle cry.
Still falling leaves caress the somber field,
and grieve where fragile soldiers lie concealed.