The rolling thunder of the wind
The muffled tones of drums, and then
The band its somber dirge does play
For he, who ‘neath his flag now lays.
“What of this man?”, rightly ask,
“that I should stand as he goes past?
What mark left he upon this world,
That bugles sound and flags are furled?”
Imperfect, yes; but of a time
When sacrifice our call defined.
A generation forged by fire,
Did nobler things to then aspire –
And in one man’s servant life
To country, friends and his wife
Grace and honor were important made
As clearly as the cannonade.
Perhaps that’s why more seems here;
Perhaps that’s why you caught that tear.
Like letting go of a steady hand
In stormy seas, far from land;
now off from all our moorings cast
stewardship comes home at last.
So stand as due respect is paid,
And grasp the words of each hymn played.
Stand for that one final gun,
When the flag is lowered by the setting sun.
Stand for him, then softly ask:
Is he alone in having passed?
Jody Dean 12.3.18