Through Heavens gate they pass

So many have I seen, pass through these gates. Some soaked with blood, fresh from the fight, others weary and grey, stricken with strife. From Flanders Field, Iwo, the Somme, some from Iraq, they march right along. Not a braver bunch, in all of the lands, draped in their colors, so proud of their stand. They fought for the right, although it was rough, they cried many tears, but shook their pains off. They had no time for ache, or pain alike, the mission came first, no matter the price. Although they have passed, their memory shall not fade, warriors remembered, for the sacrafices they made.