Elegy For the Brave

Yeah, that's right, said the counterman. Sam Preston was a truck driver. About ten years ago he was caught in a rock slide out there about where you're trucking. There's a deep blue valley in the mountains I know, where the sky is pure and warm breezes blown, where the meadow is in bloom, and the grass is sun and green, and the sunlight sprinkles

diamonds. On a clear flowing stream, a pale young soldier, is a sleep lying there, with a sun on his brow, and the dew on his hair, is a look upon his face like a lost and lonely as he sleeps upon the meadow for a while.

He doesn't see the mountains or hear the river sign. He doesn't feel the wind and he'll never see the sorrow of the faces staying with tears or share the passing days as they turn and found his rest at last as he lies in peaceful slumber on the green meadow grass.