I like it best when the roses are in bloom,
A sense of grandeur transcends the gloom.
I study the writing etched onto the monument,
Try and put faces to names of people I’ve met.

As each year passes I remember one less,
I wonder why I put myself through this grievous test.
You and I must remember them.

I try and visit at least once a week,
Find solace from the trauma in these surroundings bleak.
Cold, frosty mornings, I’ll take a seat on the bench.
Where, guided by my guilt, in despair I’m entrenched.

It’s a small price to pay compared to those who paid the ultimate,
Makes me realise how I must be eternally fortunate.
You and I must remember them.

I have been in the desperate clutches of a dying man,
And watched him fall from where I’d held his hands.
This image never leaves me, it has come to define my being,
The nightmare from which I’ll always be fleeing.

Isolation is the only medicine I can take to contain my grief.
My own passing would be all that could bring me relief.
You and I must remember them.
You and I must remember them.