Memorial Day

The flowers all are folded We children used to wear, The garlands that we molded Are withered in our hair. We’ve given up the battle Of flowering the world, We’d rather hear rifles rattle And see red flags unfurled. Soldier’s furloughs are better Than children’s holidays Though shrapnel-wounds are wetter And redder, than bouquets. For Mars returns and bloodies The sky and sand beneath, The summer rainfall muddies The white cross and the wreath.