The ossuary, and offer
Incense sticks, whose smell
Symbolically covers the stench
Of death, and I pour water
On the memorial stone to quench
The thirst of the fallen,
Cool the heat of their hell...
Thinking of their sacrifices
Churns in me a mordant cry
Quietly screaming "Why?"
And, "Poor unlucky bastards"
Forced by their countries to die...
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