by Joshua Shammay

There's a fountain by an arch by the river where I lay;
And the mourning of lost souls entreats me not.
There's a pillar in the arch it is standing by its twin;
And my mind gives not one thought towards the fray.

There's a drawing on the pillar that is standing by its twin;
In the arch by the fountain by the river where I lay.
And that drawing forms some writing, inviting me to read on this! Today of all the days.

There's a beetle in the grass, the grass that's by the arch by the river where I lay.
And as I look it starts to move, up along the stalk, enticing me by being so blasé,
Inticing me to read, that which I fear to see.
The writing in the drawing on the pillar by it's twin in the arch by the fountain by the river where I lay.

Instead my eyes turn upwards and I see a sky of blue, right above the river where I lay.
All around is peaceful and that which is my memory is the only thing that spoils this rare day.
The scenery is greenery as far as eye can see and the clouds are mere puffs of cotton wool;
Yet still I do not read, that which I came to see.
The writing in the drawing on the pillar by it's twin in the arch by the fountain by the river where I lay.

I lay there for a while, in my river by it's fountain feeling rushes of cool water cleanse my soul.
And I think of times long past when heroes fought in wars only not to live to see this day.
And I think of those I knew, who liked to think they knew me too, All dead now, all but a very few.

At last I stall no longer, my eyes begin to wander, up the pillar by it's twin in the arch by the fountain by the river where I lay.
I force my sight to focus on the writing in the drawing whose location I've contrived to convey.
And as my vision clears the words become as one, a phrase I will remember to the end of days.
In the drawing on the pillar by its twin in the arch by the fountain by the river where I lay, I read that day. "Here They Lie"