At The UN Cemetery Park

Afternoon of the fall, it's sunny day.
The flags on the poles are waving of the breeze.
The koi're playing in the Daunt water way, 
And the leaves are beckoning the visitors on the trees.
And the Sharon's Roses in the garden are beautiful.
The early fall, the park is peaceful. 

A wheelchair visitor's guided by young men.
This tidy cemetery is hallowed ground, 
And devoted ground for resting the young men
And now the statues guard them on the mound.
A crow is cawing for something to say
On the tree, to the visitors walking on the way. 

What're the stories that he try to say? 
The heroic stories for triumph on the fort, 
Or the stories of the powder smoking day? 
Or the words their departing the mother port? 
The people who're walking this way. Hark! 
Whate'er he say on the tree in the park.

To the visitor's ear, his croak is the blow.
'The young men who bled their blood for the country
And people, before they did not know.
And now they are resting this ground'. The story
He try to say, 'Freedom's not free.' 
He caws, all the day on the tree.