I saw him there standing in line
Camouflaged, uniform pressed.
He stood with quiet confidence
and patience like the rest.
I watched him, as he didn’t know
I stood in the corner quiet.
Thinking young men like him,
fighting in the night.
I tried to envision his young face,
brown with all the sand.
Covered from the desert hills
holding a gun in his hand.
There I stood, even watching more
as he responded to the clerk
Then I thought of soldiers like him
digging holes for beds at work.
I stood there in reverence,
although he did not see.
Trying to understand the core
who volunteers for me.
I watched and on his face I saw
many who stood there too.
It wasn’t just one soldier in the boots
but many who fit his shoes.
I lowered my head and felt the moment
of the ones who already died.
The children, the loved one, left behind,
buried in pillows to cry.
He turned, a stranger all the while
and tipped his hat to go.
I prayed a quiet prayer and looked
up, smiled and said hello.
Leaving through the open doors
I was left with only my thoughts.
There is a force out there in our youth
a force that has fiercely fought
It is made up of the young and strong at heart
and trained to combat the wars.
The American soldier, with iron hands
and a kind heart that keeps no scores.
Copyright: CMM 2000
a morning announced with the calling of the geese as they fly over.
A special gathering is beginning deep within the hills
speckled with white uniform tombstones.
Tombstones all a certain size, all to match the other,
rowed to follow the curves, the sloping grass.
Gentle hushed people walking, stopping to look,
stopping to look for; hoping to see.
See the familiar name, the identity of the one,
the lone one they once knew and shared life.
Flag markers are diligentlly pierced in the grass,
the grass that carpets each gravesite.
Cutting through the cemetery a road lined from one end
leans with motorcycles representing a special war.
Significant of the era it was fought in; tumultuous times,
the confusion so related to the war of Southeast Asia.
Elderly men reminiscent of the World Wars and foreign fields
while the innocent children play around Oak trees.
The children that have been allowed,
because yesterday existed and the brave stood tall.
Twenty-one guns… start to sound, one after another,
silent crowds stand in reverence, while children cry.
Taps of the lone soldier, a soldier remembered,
remembered by his friend in the civil war.
Haunting ricochets sound its memory for all that stood watch,
all that stood and listened.
Off in the distance,
the silence heard of tears that don’t cry out.
The tears of broken families, holding memories of their loved ones.
Morning wandered; again the geese call us back to the beginnings.
The lone jogger wipes the tears of a Father she never knew.
Copyrighted: CMM 2002
Photo Copyrighted: CMM 2002