Decus est mori pro bello

Below the grieving willows' somber veil,

Where shadows straggle ‘neath the fading light,

I stand amidst the howls of fates impaled,

As valor dims, and hope gives way to plight.

What bugle calls throughout this hallowed ground,

Where poppies bud in fields of crimson stain?

What glory blooms where tales will stay—resound,

In hearts that hold the weight of ceaseless pain?

For what is reaped when tenderness is lost?

The tragic price of war, a heavy toll.

What laurels chant where dreams and lives are tossed,

Upon doom’s winds that haunt the restless soul?

In mourning’s cloak, I seek for solace, vain,

All slain by warfare, my heart’s bleeding stain.