Dream of liberated fields,
Producing penicillin
And choking life out of
The cholera of gunfire.
Don't fear words summoned
At the grave,
They describe places we only
Wish there'd been time to
Know more intimately.
This hour of reflection is then
Half the battle
--the battle no one wins.
"Soldier on, ossuary!
Soldier on!"
Perhaps, we've reached
The nadir of the Hopewell.

How could we not?