On This Memorial Day

here and elsewhere where the memories of soldiers linger

“Threes” by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967) 

I was a boy when I heard three red words 
a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets 
for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity—I asked 
why men die for words.

I was older; men with mustaches, sideburns, 
lilacs, told me the high golden words are: 
Mother, Home, and Heaven—other older men with 
face decorations said: God, Duty, Immortality 
—they sang these threes slow from deep lungs.

Years ticked off their say-so on the great clocks 
of doom and damnation, soup, and nuts: meteors flashed 
their say-so: and out of great Russia came three 
dusky syllables workmen took guns and went out to die 
for: Bread, Peace, Land.

And I met a marine of the U.S.A., a leatherneck with a girl on his knee 
for a memory in ports circling the earth and he said: Tell me how to say 
three things and I always get by—gimme a plate of ham and eggs--how 
much—and—do you love me, kid?