The bugle call rings clear across the green,
Where rows of white stand silent in the sun;
The quiet pride of all that might have been,
Beneath the weight of battles fought and won.
We gather where the flags begin to sway,
To whisper names that time cannot erase,
Reflecting on the cost we hold today,
Etched deep upon this consecrated place.
It is not just for banners flying high,
Or songs that echo through the morning air,
But for the ones who looked into the sky,
And gave their all to keep the nation fair.
Though years may pass and seasons drift along,
Their courage lives within our grateful song.
