This post will definitely be a departure from normal articles here. It is however something that needs to be said. Like all other articles on this site, feel free to disagree with it, but please do so respectfully.
Summer is called joyful when the god lets
holy heaven's king, shining fruits
be born from earth for rich and poor.
Ice be over-cold, unmeasurably slippery;
glisteneth clear as glass, to gems likest;
a floor by frost wrought, fair to be seen.
This song was written originally for Lughnassadh, but I see it as speaking to losses from wartime regardless of season.
Need is nearest to the breast
yet often proves to children of men
a source of help and healing
if they heed it betimes.