She sits amid flowers, among friends, in their graves,

To remember far days without fear,

The laughter, the dancing, and sometimes a tear,

Brown bodies splashing through waves,

When war was a word for the history class,

And peace was as natural as breath,

When all were as one in life as in death,

And all shared their wealth and a glass,

For each is the other and the other is me,

Or so say the old and the wise,

But these spilled their blood in dark harmony,

For the profits of those who use lies,

Stolen, their youth, their one chance to be,

By those with the pitiless eyes.