Threads of Grey and Gold — Decoration Day

The trees bow their heads in sorrow, While their giant branches wave, With the requiems of the forest, To the dead in a soldier's grave.

The pitying rain falls softly, In grief for a nation's brave, Who died 'neath the scourge of treason And rest in a lonely grave.

So, under the willow and cypress We lay our dead away, And cover their graves with blossoms, But the debt we never can pay.

All nature is bathed in tears, On our sad Memorial day, When we crown the valour of heroes With flowers from the garments of May.