'The Wall' Poem by John Yaws

Silent figures in the rain,
It seems so very strange
Snow, or ice, or summer heat
Expressions never change.

Three young men who'll never age
These three will never fall
Unlike those men they represent
Names graven on the 'Wall'.

Young, those lives we threw away
Like wheat before the scythe
Upon a foreign altar slain
Ah, what a dreadful price.

Three young men, two white, one black
Returning from patrol-
Now only elements attack
Those names upon the roll.

What's to show for blood they shed-
For most no teardrops fall-
Unknown, unsung, all but forgot-
Those men upon the Wall!

The 'Wall', how fitting is the black-
Cold marble of it's face-
And epitaph, lives thrown away,
Their treatment, a disgrace.