Unknown Soldier - Alan Marquis

Now he’s just a soldier
once christened with a name,
who lived and breathed and questioned,
as to fields of war he came.
Where death has taken away from him
that final, last respect,
denied a name upon his stone,
the least he could expect.

In Flanders fields he bravely trod,
this unnamed soldier known to God.

His mother never came here
with tears to cloud her eyes,
nor children bringing flowers,
for they knew not where he lies.
So here’s a place to remember,
with roses, lillies or a poppy cross,
knowing not a name, yet mourning still a loss.

In Flanders fields he answered the cry
and here in peace will forever lie.

A soldier among thousands
who fell in Flanders mud,
has no name to honour him
yet once was flesh and blood.
Someone somewhere loved him
this soldier who had no choice,
and whatever language was his
he might ask if he still had voice.

Forget me not, Vergissmeinicht,
une soldat inconnue,
sacrificed not in vain,
if at least I’m remembered by you.

In Flanders fields he faithfully trod,
not really a soldier, just a boy,
and now, . . . only known to God.

Alan Marquis