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THE SOLUTION
On dusky summer night’s,
when the moon and stars look down.
to where only weeds now stand guard.
Will anyone remember, why?
and if so , what for?
Will flaxen hair’d maidens,
with emerald green eyes.
Who asked those silly questions,
of fresh faced young men , who died.
feel any remorse.
Or will they have left on the tide.
Careers and legends,
all built on blood and misery.
Will anybody have the answer,
before we lose sight of the question?.
Your prose put me to shame. I've always considered myself a writer, but I may have to reconsider that title. Thank you.