The Last Parade. Bugles blare and drums rumble loud As the bands march past the cheering crowd. Heroes dressed in green, white or blue Stand quietly poised, observing the view. There are scores from the desert, and Asias Southeast, And some who just returned home last week. Theres a few whose departure is drawing near Who themselves will be Vets by this time next year. There are many who faced down shot and shell To secure the thirty-eighth parallel. They all have scars and accounts to re-hash, Theres even a nurse from an old Army MASH. In the crowd nearby is a smaller crew Who survived the hell of World War 2. They remember those lost to the enemys gun As they island-hopped or drove back the Hun. Then theres that lone man, transfixed in the sun: The towns last Vet from World War 1. Hes riddled with age now, and almost blind, But still willing to rise when his Flag flutters by. And if his eyes glisten dont think hes afraid Although hes quiet sure this is his last parade. True, he survived his enemys rage, But hell not long escape disease and old age. By noon the party is over and gone And downtown returns to its every day tone. But next year well meet and do it again To honor our Vets, brave women and men. jkl, 11/2006
Posted on: Mon, 11 Nov 2013 02:35:35 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015