How could we forget
When to go to frequent
Their portraits posted
They remain young
While we wear down
Their glory, a word
Worn like the gloss
Of aging polished stone
A poor trade for a son
Cold, hard, lifeless
If tears could grow
These gardens abundant
Eden would exist here
Instead, but silence
Ominous e'er constant
In the twilight mists
Standing so spectral
Sentries silent arrowed
On eternal guard yet
Awaiting redemption
Patiently they watch
In tranquility abided
For their comrades
Left behind to care
Obligated brethren
On this side of life
Keeping our promises
To them, to self still
For noble task met
By brevity of an age
They remain young
Forever to be so
While the hours flee
And time claims all
In its twilight mists