Your last act was above and beyond. Letters and articles say                         You went to direct the show!                                                                        Your soul, unscathed by war, soaring, left this plane on that mud-drenched day.

Your body lay three days, in a hole. When you died, no one could say.              You felt your heartbeat slow…                                                                        Your flesh, pierced by mortar, sizzling, stayed to drain its blood, then decay.

Your death was, clearly, a hero’s death. Medals and flag came our way             (You sent me them, I know).                                                                      Your soul, unscathed by war, soaring, left this plane on that rain-soaked day.

Your father, mother, sisters, child and wife led lives of disarray.                         Stunned, we failed to grow.                                                                          Your body, pierced by mortar, failing, stayed to drain its blood, decay.

Your mother brought your body back. In family arms and plot, you lay.           You rest, sun, sleet or snow.                                                                          Your soul, unscathed by war, soaring, left this plane on that hard-rain day          Your body, pierced by mortar, failing, stayed to drain its blood, decay.