I come from the beginning, I come from the end.
Though I should grow old, My spirit will flow.
And the memories it should carry, not the least of many.
Of the horrors I witnessed, the sons I've buried.
What of the cost, the many lives lost.
We have done the deed, We’ve planted the seed.
We gave our souls in the fields, the air, and the sea.
But at what cost, the many dead, forgotten.
The future taken, the will of many broken.
The ages passing, the generations climbing.
We are the bodies rotting, the bones decaying.
We are the young and the old, the brave and the bold.
We many gave it our furthest, the few, our bravest.
Though they should live no longer, for the eye of the beholder.
Shall grow old no further, our souls still flowing.
Beyond the streams of bright rivers, the fields we wonder.
We are remembered as the many, who sought to defend the wary.
And the light continues to glow on many, for it should inform our stories.
We are the boys of the beginning, we are the men of the end.
We shall grow old, our spirits will flow.
May all look upon this as a token, never ceased to see broken.
And never forget the ones, who gave first their lives.
To the end of all times.
-- Gavin D., 9th-12th Grade