Amid a scene in perfect green where travellers stop to rest.
Stands an angel looming down upon the corner’s breast.
Sacred rights and names forlorn she guards lest we forget.
Yet somewhere upon another shore by boats and crashing waves.
Another Rothesay these men meet instead of ending days.
And in the splendid sunshine comes a group to lay a wreath, yet what memories do we have for children to bequeath?
Of death and war upon the pit? Amidst the battle cries? Or angels pointing upward when we lay down our sighs.
Away from death and pity trips with fake smiles and flowers sad.
And turn to love the neighbour who needs a word so glad.
If a shadow of this place comes rolling by your mind, it serves as a reminder to give and love sublime.