My Son's Loss lyrics

Dear Mr. President;

This apple on your desk

Has grown from the tree

That grows upon a mound

Sweet William of earthen irony

The apple sweet as was he

Ripe red his cheeks with life

A good apple now you see

Except for a hole, exit a worm

Bullet hole in his chest bled free

Spoiling war has claimed Bill

My heart weeps for his naive memory