Here's the last war poem.

Review when you've read my lovelies.

Luv, I-B-Y-F, xxx

Quiet footsteps across the grass,
She stands her face turned down,
Silent tears flow from her eyes,
Her face passive not a smile or frown.

She holds a single white rose,
Clutched in a delicate hand,
She tells nobody of her grief,
They could not possibly understand.

She looks with vagueness straight ahead,
Remembering something maybe,
Her eyes fill up with tears again,
Reminded by a bittersweet memory.

She crouches down in front of a grave,
And lays down the pure white rose,
The words on the grave have comforted all,
But it’s obvious the truth she knows.

She looks at the careful engraving,
Reading the sad forgotten verse,
Nobody else can understand it like her,
Why it only serves to make her worse.

It reads: Dulce et decorum est,
Then finishes: Pro patria mori,
She hates it’s very meaning to the end,
Because to her, its meaning is a lie.