My Comrades, by George Reavey They were burnt in tanks, my comrades, /
burnt to embers, cinders, reduced to ash. /
Grass grew out of them, of course, /
grass that spreads ove...
My friends, by Daniel Weissbort My friends in tanks were burnt /
to cinders, to ashes, to dust. /
Grass, covering half a world, /
has grown out of them of course. /
My friend...