waltlb
05-23-2007, 16:55
The day we honor our fallen military members is coming soon. I thought I’d send something out to try to help memorialize that important holiday.
When I wrote this, I had in mind a cemetery I know near Colleyville, TX.
It has a section set aside for veterans. It’s a large plot, well tended, with trees and stone benches.
But soon it will not be large enough.
IN THE MILITARY GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE
The roses along the gray stone fence are soft as old vellum
Faintly perfuming the ether breathed by those still breathing.
And inside are no thorns, nor harm to stop and smell them
No, only springtime on the greening earth, a humid pleasing
Of the senses, a cant of sunlight on velvet grass, so, so trim.
Newly opened buds vie with colored paper flowers, teasing
The poor bee between real and unreal, sham and Seraphim.
Fresh-leaved trees leak yellow seeds of new life conceiving.
But the sprinklers that wet the little iron flags do so in vain.
The once-life beneath that lived for those above was aware
When time was and now isn’t his like could never be again.
Still, it was worth all, what he lost and they could only bear,
A father gone, a brother stepped into mist, friends here lain,
If only his sacrifice, given with a ragged last minute prayer,
Helped keep our land from the grasp of an enemy’s domain,
Well, then the loss of springtimes - and roses - holds no pain.
WB USAF, 1963 - 1968
When I wrote this, I had in mind a cemetery I know near Colleyville, TX.
It has a section set aside for veterans. It’s a large plot, well tended, with trees and stone benches.
But soon it will not be large enough.
IN THE MILITARY GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE
The roses along the gray stone fence are soft as old vellum
Faintly perfuming the ether breathed by those still breathing.
And inside are no thorns, nor harm to stop and smell them
No, only springtime on the greening earth, a humid pleasing
Of the senses, a cant of sunlight on velvet grass, so, so trim.
Newly opened buds vie with colored paper flowers, teasing
The poor bee between real and unreal, sham and Seraphim.
Fresh-leaved trees leak yellow seeds of new life conceiving.
But the sprinklers that wet the little iron flags do so in vain.
The once-life beneath that lived for those above was aware
When time was and now isn’t his like could never be again.
Still, it was worth all, what he lost and they could only bear,
A father gone, a brother stepped into mist, friends here lain,
If only his sacrifice, given with a ragged last minute prayer,
Helped keep our land from the grasp of an enemy’s domain,
Well, then the loss of springtimes - and roses - holds no pain.
WB USAF, 1963 - 1968