A simple white cross.
Just like thousands more at the cemetery.
Far, far away in a distant land they gave their lives for.
His name. His rank. His hometown.
And the date of his death.
That’s all. Nothing special.
Sure, it is set apart from the others.
A low chain fence, some flagstones.
Some bushes around a small plot of grass.
But no statues of angels, no lights.
No wreaths or flowers.
No cannon.
And no flags.
Just a soldier with his men.
In eternal rest.
Not killed in battle, like so many here.
But a drunk driver, turning left.