I've crossed to France to find your grave,
Too many years gone by,
And find you on a sward of green
Beneath an April sky.
In the strip of fertile soil
Before your marker stone
There blooms a fragile Lenten rose,
A gift from one unknown.
Such dignified remembrances -
Inscriptions, flowers, peace -
Are meant to offer solace
To those who bring their grief.
I only know - my dearest love
Lies here beneath the ground.
My hope, my youth lie with you,
By faithful promise bound.
And now - the skies are dark again
While Europe holds its breath.
One and twenty years of peace
You paid for with your death.
But why did you have to die?