Classic Poem

The cause of this I know not,
Whither they went nor why,
But I still remember the laughter
And the bright eyes flashing by,
The day the girls were kissing
The boys who had to die.

I search in vain for the reason—
What does a poet know?—
Only that youth is lovely,
Only that youth must go;
And hearts are made to be broken
And love is always woe.