They buried Gunner Frost beside the church
Where all the Frosts had always lain
In their high tide marks of quiet lives,
But Gunner Frost was not the same:

Where giant skies meet giant hills
Gunner Frost was quietly killed.

Yet part of that far land
Will Gunner Frost forever be,
While Afghan mud is still on his hands,
While Afghan girls still go to school.

His life melted in the Afghan Spring
And down Death’s rivers floated home
On the shoulders of enormous men
And in the cargo holds of planes;

And those who saw his coffin pass
Counted it their private loss

And stood in silence like the snow.