Pipers march in unison,
Circling the granite in reverent serpentine,
Droning sadness throughout the grieving throng,
Hitting home the sacrifices this day honors.

From the northeast corner of a newly crescent moon,
Light cracks the heavens,
Releasing voices in the sky,
Sounds of the unheard.

No living thing can hear what is said.
Only gentle breezes can understand
The true meaning of horror, combat burns.
We must choose for ourselves what is truth or just illusion.

May they all rest in peace.