The Three Concerned by Leon Gellert
He lies forgotten ‘neath the watching skies,
the blood upon his bayonet scarlet bright;
the red moon shining in his glazed eyes,
the ‘Last Post’ crying, crying in the night.
She proudly sits within her home of gloom,
and reads and reads his lines with wistful smile,
then, eyes aglisten, seeks the empty room
(and he within his bloody grave the while.)
His wooden war-horse stands beside his bed,
his tiny pillow holds a head of gold.
He dreams of all the things his father said,
he dreams of all the tales his father told.