They’re lying at the bottom of the hill;

Not destined to climb back up to the top.

Face down in mud, their bodies stiff and still;

Their untold stories blasted to a stop.

 

We knew them once, as neighbours and as friends;

Their crime was being on the other side.

Once peace arrives, we’ll try to make amends,

But there’s no bringing back the ones who died.

 

For one brief moment, when we reach the field,

Our hunger pangs make us forget the waste.

We eye their rations, see the fresh fruit peeled,

Yet find we have no appetite or taste.

 

So we will dig them each a decent grave

And gather all mementos which remain.

Their past is now the only thing to save;

The earth alone knows what their minds contain.