Florence Randal Livesay
FROM A GRAVE IN BELGIUM
"The Amen of Nature is always a flower"—O. W. Holmes.
THE missive comes from overseas—
I 'It grew,' one writes 'where he is sleeping,
"Twill precious be in your safe keeping.'
The wraith of a dead flower speaks
Not of a grave and its defilement:
Only of love and reconcilement.
And in its stead new buds shall blow—
Like nuns low bending, hour by hour
'Amen!' shall breathe from every flower.
THE LAST OF THE RESERVES
O MY children, in Time's meadows playing,
Singing beneath stars!
Night has fallen-the night none can be staying,
Soldiers march to wars.
You were happy and you seemed so young there,
Just two stripling boys;
But your country's call has even rung there,
Blithe you leave your joys.
Of a sudden I am spent and aged,
My life's song is dumb.
Follow, nestlings restless,
Fife, and 'heady drum, that were caged,
In Time's meadows you are aye in shelter,
Safe from war's alarms,
Though you lie amid the battle's welter,
Ravished from my arms.
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