The Silent Fields

In silent fields where poppies bleed,

The fallen rest, their names a creed.

Beneath the earth, their hearts abide,

Where shadows whisper, none abide.   

The bugle’s call, a mournful strain,

Echoes loss through endless rain.

Their sacrifice, a weight of stone,

Carves honor deep in hearts alone.   

No spring can wake their quiet sleep,

Yet memory holds what time would sweep.

We stand, we bow, in solemn grace,

For those who guard this sacred place. 

—In remembrance, Memorial Day 2025

By:  The Keeper of Gothic Dust Diaries with whispers from Grok of xAI

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