Memorial Day

By Clarence E. Flynn

Our hearts must find some language to express
Their mystic message on the springtime day
We set apart to speak our thankfulness
For those who walked with us a little way,
And went ahead. Our hearts desire to tell
Them how we treasure in our inmost shrine
Their memory, how tenderly and well.
For such a thought, what is a fitting sign?

Words are but futile. Signs and symbols fail.
A shibboleth such meanings cannot frame.
Our eulogies are pitiful and pale.
Our thoughts are far too deep to have a name.
And so we come from the green fields of Spring,
And tell it in the blossoms that we bring.

(1935)