By Virginia R. (Windrich) Swan © 1998

Our souls cry out when they say, “gone but not forgotten,”
Because we are forgotten by so many.
You accept the good life,
All without a thought,claiming it is your right.
The right to live and do as you will.
A special life, ah,‘tis that indeed.
A piece of metal forged into a design,
Tied with a ribbon to wear on our chests,
Or sent home to our families was our reward.
We were grateful.
Tiny crosses dot the earth around the world.
Many stand in foreign soil,
Never to be seen by our families,
Some here at home in sacred ground.
Perhaps you think them pretty in their symmetrical rows,
Not one individually stands out.
Nay, they are more,
These emblems insure you the right to be individuals in all things.
Even to ignore our reasons for dying.
Take heed of us and the histories of the past.
Remember our country, our people and why we lived and died.
YOU---are the nation, make it great again, become proud.
Remember us so our souls no longer feel the need to cry out.

   This poem is dedicated to my brother Bill.

You can reach Ginnie Swan at: GSwan12345@aol.com