Green grass,under white polished stone
that tells a tale of its own
of far off lands,and other fields
of tears gathered,on broken shields

Each silent,lonely spot
tells,of spirit,that once grew hot
of strong wills,and skilled hands
of adventures,upon those far off lands

Whispers of unheard deeds
of fast moves,and lightening steeds
of spirits soaring,miles high
of days of glory,passing by

So many stones,side be side
tell of those,who just so did ride
in their,brave,proud bands
in those,green,far off lands

On many stones,can be found
the inevitable marks,of sorrowful sound
message stones,and wrinkled flowers
that bloom only,under twinkling stars

Mark of birth ,or mark of choice
to each stone,lends its voice
for the one,in who's place it stands
for the one who wandered,to those far off lands

And though they moulder,and slowly fade
the stones shall always lend their aid
to those who venture,heralding change
to lands where the stars are strange

Under this stone and under grass
are those who have come to pass
immobilized in Time's sands
for their deeds,in those far off lands