Young souls venture there,

But will they come back,

Broken dreams and aspirations,

No glory they lack,

Loss of mobility,

Crazed in the brain,

Then we want them,

To go back again.

Flowers of our Country,

Cut down in their prime,

The counts in the hundreds,

Time after time,

Will it be worth it,

A question we ask,

Is it too far?

Or too great a task?

Let them come home,

So the people see joy,

On the face of the mother,

Awaiting her boy,

It will be worth it,

As she waits in her place,

For out of the hundred,

She sees just one face.

Son or husband,

And tears there will be,

As the bond between Mother,

And wife, you will see,

Shared by a Nation,

Willing the meet,

Then hugging each other ,

With children at feet,

Joyous occasion, shared by all,

But never forget,

Those who did fall.