There was no roses for him. Without a name no one even cares. He was loved. He was some one's son. Some one's husband. Some one's father. He has no face not an identity. Amidst the crosses row on row. His cross reads John Doe. He ran through gun fire. Was shaken by bombs. A brave soldier. The letter told his family “lost in action”. His dog tag throne from his neck. He was unrecognizable. He wondered the battle field, confused. 'Am I dead?' he asked. He was young. He was strong. He died for his country. I went to visit John today, I left a rose right there on his grave. I said a prayer. And told him he would find his way. I've never loved someone more. Not even knowing him i feel he loves me too. But still there he will lay row on row with the name John Doe. I will keep visiting until the day I die. For my cross will say here lies Annie among the other corpses with names. And John will wait for me on the other side. I will learn his name and we will walk into Paradise together. Maybe one day his cross will read another name, but until then I will visit and pray to get to meet him one day.