I have to wonder, if sixty years from now they’ll still visit 60. where those fallen for freedom lay sleeping and surrounded. It’s called the saddest acre in America with beer bottles, dog tags, hot sauce, and rocks.
Each stone tells a story as it stands shamelessly out of the ground. A father, mother, friend, cousin. A co-worker, son, daughter, but more a life. I have to wonder, as small children leave their toys, will they still come sixty years from now to sad section 60?