They fell in the grime of bloody wars, As blighted roses fall to the slime; Their youth crushed beneath the hells of Mars, As roses plucked and withered in their prime.

The perfume of the roses remain, Long after their petals soft are crushed, So shall their fame live fresh in our minds Long after the bloody wars have passed.

Their forms are dissolved and have already gone, To join the elements from whence they sprang, But the memory of the cause that they have won Is enshrined in the hearts of men. (Reprint from The Plowman, November 1950)