The Wall

Granite as black as the smoke of war,

A name to touch and cry,

An epitaph of sacrifice,

And still the question—Why?

Homage paid in special ways:

A rose—a note—a sigh;

Frustration wrought with anger

That fate chose these to die.

They never asked for glory,

Just a grave of homeland sod.

They gave their lives for country—

Now they answer but to God.

Could tears but wash away the pain

And heal a nation's scar,

That men may find a better way

Than futile acts of war

Pray their death was not in vain—

A lesson to recall:

A future world without the need

Of names upon a Wall.

The Web Projects of Sondra Ball and Mario Cavallini