Battlefields not long ago these pleasant meadows and thick forests
Below the mountains
And these now capped with virgin snow ran red
As your progenitors fought, shed their blood,
Poured out their lives, became the dead
For you
Now those still young from their hallowed earthen bays
Cry down the days to you , still young
Their mute demand stark with the silence of songs unsung
Your rose strewn ways , those halcyon days , these idylls of repose
As seeds we planted in deep trenches rows on rows
And in that hellish hothouse we watered them with life
A drenching red
To give these days a gift to you the living, from the dead
Your life’s manner how you hold this prize
Does it betray
Or bless our sacrifice?