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Rustle of Dead Leaves

November 25, 2012
By Anonymous

There is a whisper through the gravestones,
A coarse, raw whisper
Mingled with bright, light tones,
The living remember
Those who gave their lives,
Who lie in peace under earth and weed,
Now crowned in flowers of the season.

On this day, the old comrades whisper,
And on this day, the young children whisper,
Name after name,
‘Mort pour la France.’
They remember.
Like a rustle of dead leaves in autumn,
Their voices whisper.

© Anonymous

The author's comments:
November 11th was Commemoration Day of WW1. I went to thee celebration in my village cemetery and I was amazed by thee amount of people, young and old, who showed up and somehow knew what to say and do at thee right moment.
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