The sharp crack of seven guns, times three. We remember.
The rustle and pop of colors, snapping in the wind. We will not forget.
The cold silence of white stone, standing at attention, surrounded by the smell of new-mown grass, echoes back in voices that have been silenced for years. We are here.
The bugle call, mournful and forlorn, wafts around us, elusive as the memory of those we came to honor.
IN WATERS DEEP
In ocean wastes no poppies blow,
No crosses stand in ordered row,
There young hearts sleep… beneath the wave…
The spirited, the good, the brave,
But stars a constant vigil keep,
For them who lie beneath the deep.
‘Tis true you cannot kneel in prayer
On certain spot and think. “He’s there.”
But you can to the ocean go…
See whitecaps marching row on row;
Know one for him will always ride…
In and out… with every tide.
And when your span of life is passed,
He’ll meet you at the “Captain’s Mast.”
And they who mourn on distant shore
For sailors who’ll come home no more,
Can dry their tears and pray for these
Who rest beneath the heaving seas…
For stars that shine and winds that blow
And whitecaps marching row on row.
And they can never lonely be
For when they lived… they chose the sea.
© 2001 by Eileen Mahoney
To those who served, we are in your debt.
To those who live, we give our thanks.
To those who are gone, we will not forget.
To this we commit our honor.
Memorial Day 2013
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