User:220 of Borg

In New York’s Streets

(An adaption of In Flanders Fields)^[1]

In New York’s Streets as dust we blow
Between the buildings, row on row,
That mark the place; where’pon we died
The motes, just softly sinking, fly
Scarce seen amid the death below.

We are now dead. Some years ago
We lived, saw dawn, and sunsets glow,
We loved, were loved, but then we died
In New York’s Streets.

Take up our battle with the foe:
To you from now dead hands we throw
The flag; that’s yours to hold up high,
To guard the truths in which we pride.
If ye break faith with us who died,
We shall not sleep, though dust still blows
In New York’s Streets.