Why are they, taken so young?

Ripped from the arms, their mother’s son.

Their existences here, short at best.

Their resistance to fear lies them to rest.

If the strong are taken, what is to become?

Who will prevail? Who will succumb?

Their lives ahead, lie behind them now.

Their eternal bed, their solemn vow.

Set before them were lives to lead.

But death in accordance with the web fate weaves.

Cut down are the best, in their prime.

Cut down are the best, before their time.