A Tribute to Wilfred Owen

He rest beneath the emerald sea

Among his fellows,

And we, intruders in this ever-growing

Fraternity of the Dead.

Can he feel the gratitude in our still beating hearts

As we stand at graves' feet?

What can we say?

What can we do?

What can we feel?

To ease the loss of he whose

Words still,

Echo down Time and haunt,

Those uncountable masses he gave his life for.

Forevermore, his spirit in his words,

Will eternally soar.


I wrote this over three years ago, during an English Literature trip in France. We visited Wilfred Owen's grave, and this was written shortly afterwards.