Let them in Peter, they are very tired;
Give them the couches where the angels sleep.
Let them wake whole again to new dawns fired
With sun not war. And may their peace be deep
Remember where the broken bodies lie --
And give them the things they like. Let them make noise,
God knows how young they were to have to die!
Give swing bands not harps, to these our boys,
Let them love Peter, -- they have had no time --
Girls sweet as meadow wind, with flowing hair --
They should have trees and bird song, hills to climb
The taste of Summer in a ripened pear,
Tell them how they are missed. Say not to fear;
It's going to be alright with us down here.
a poem by Elma Dean