old poem

FALLEN

Lay them down in the fields 

of sweet barley and rye,

let them pause for a bit 

till they're ready to fly,

do not bend over them, 

do not mourn, do not weep,

do not trouble their rest,

let them sleep, let them sleep.

They will gather their strength

and together they'll rise,

all like one they'll take flight

to the still paradise,

where the children await,

where the wives of their own

they'll embrace at the gate,

where the fields lie unmown.

© 2012 Sasha A. Palmer