This is a quiet place at the end of night
long dim shadows appear before the dawn
row upon row at the coming of the light,
this is our place of rest and we do not hear
not a voice or a gentle breeze or a raindrop
on the soil above.

But, if we could see, we would know side by side
Our Brothers lie, our souls released by the hand
of fate, for it is here, upon this earth the
moving shadows cast by light, mark our place
in these vast fields of standing stones.

For some who will never see our final place
and those who have lost their Sons in war,
only they can feel the pain they bear,
Yet, there is comfort and they know the gentle
hand of a caring child, at a special time,
will always place a flower on his Grave
and he will never be alone.

These Children, just like You, they know Our
Names and who we were, it is carved there
on the stones, and also here, a special place
where no name is there to see, there is a cross
and a time and the words unknown, it is here
in this far land a Child will gently place a rose
upon this Silent Stone.

 ~ Robert Rushbrook

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