The calendar is drawing to an end,
And against depredations we defend
Ourselves in vain; we see friend after friend
Taken in the last days of the year,
Despite that they're still greatly needed here
Who now are gone. And, even now, a tear
Wells up when I do think lives now lost,
Sacrifices made to pay the cost
Incurred for something needless, often glossed,
And so unknown to those who find reward
On shelves of stores and who to themselves hoard
The wealth of nations by grace of the board.
Deaths of those beloved, rightly mourned,
Are not more tragic than of those suborned.