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Dedicated to all those soldiers who fell in battle without children
In the shadowed fields where poppies sway,
There lies a tale of those who stayed,
In uniforms, their youth arrayed,
Their names etched deep, though shades they fade.
I may be the last of my line to fall,
No child to echo through life’s grand hall,
Yet, my spirit casts a timeless call,
In valiant grace, I stood tall.
Beneath the soil, where secrets sleep,
Silent warriors, their vigil keep,
Their dreams a treasure, sown to reap,
For lands they loved, the promise steep.
No cradle rocked, no bedtime tales,
No little hands, no tiny wails.
Yet, my legacy, like sturdy sails,
Will catch the wind when all else fails.
For though I bore no child of mine,
My deeds shall serve as strong, sweet wine.
In hearts I’ll live, through acts benign,
My love through service shall define.
I may be the last, my bloodline cease,
Yet, in my end, I find my peace.
For life’s true gift, its sweet release,
Is knowing hope shall never cease.
With every sacrifice laid bare,
I seed the future, rich and rare,
My memory, a solemn prayer,
That echoes love beyond compare.
So, mourn not the empty halls back home,
For in your hearts, my legacy roams.
I may be the last, through twilight’s dome,
Yet, in your deeds, forever I’m sown.