Nil Nisi!
Here we tread on pristine grass,
Over which light zephyrs pass,
Facing east, with new day’s sun,
Embraced by heroes, every one.

One gazes long across this place
In stillness; words would only waste
The noble quiet that abounds
Across these quiet, noble grounds.

Every nation made a tithe:
Sons and daughters, once alive
Filled the ranks of those who swore
They would put an end to war.

Then, they gave the rarest prize,
Known to only one who dies:
Just an instant, ere full dark,
To offer up their mortal spark

For something greater than to fall –
Something which, for one and all,
Permits these markers that we spy
To promise that they did not die!

Each, marble marker designates;
One million tears which mourned the fates
Of those who gave, that wars might cease:

“Nil nisi bonum, de mortuis!”

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