In Arlington

Craig W. Steele

In Arlington, beneath sod, green,
’neath ordered stones of pallid sheen,
brave soldiers rest from gallant deeds
like fallen leaves that no one heeds.
Their sacrifice, what might it mean?

Those left behind marooned between
abiding pride, grief unforeseen
for loved ones lost: each mourner bleeds
in Arlington.

It’s time we living intervene:
embrace what’s right, resist routine
destructive greed, all hate-filled creeds
till strife recedes and peace succeeds;
thus grant them ease to sleep serene
in Arlington.