BY ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Only flowers—yet they wreathe the paths we love to trace today,
Where the ashes of our heroes rest a-near and far away,
And the chimes of glory proudly waft above each sacred mound,
Where the loyal feet of kind and comrades softly tread around.
Only flowers—yet above them lifts the veil of memory,
And again we see them marching unto goals of victory—
Bravest of the brave that ever fought and fell on battle plain
Or sank 'neath crimsoned waters of some distant surging main!
Only flowers-yet the sweetest is the lily fair of Peace,
Whose glad message of enduring solace nevermore shall cease;
Every petal it unfoldeth wafts a fragrance of pure love,
Redolent of breath of angels, of unbroken ranks above.
Only flowers—consecrating earth's responsive tender breast,
Where the braves we loved have gathered unto everlasting rest;
Where the banners that they cherish wave above them all to-day,
Radiant in golden sunshine of the waning hours of May.
Troy Times. May 29, 1923: 15 col 1.