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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required As the gun’s first round blasts out Echoed by a mother’s mournful cry, I stand by waiting to cap the grave This last summer of ‘69 when the constant Funerals made me feel older than my years. I remember earlier being at the bottom Of that grave carving the corners square Where sound is muted and still And the earth smells cool and fresh. Enjoying a moment of silence Below the ground looking up From the darkness to blue sky, Before the black funeral sends Its dead down to this place I prepared for many others. Waiting out of sight with dirt On my hands in case of trouble, A line of black cars weave Through the cemetery lanes, While the honor guard waits So young and sharp carrying guns, Flags and a brass horn whose sound Mixed with tears will carry the departed Young soul away from us to heaven. The family and friends gather Moving like ghosts in the broken Way I have seen so many times, As the prayers of consolation begin, I hear sorrowful whimpering As they try to comfort each other. Now the second round, Echoed by a mother’s mournful cry, But louder with the sound of why Unspoken that I will never forget. Too soon the final round cracks out As the brass horn plays Taps, General sobbing rises and falls. The soft notes signal the ending That I still carry in dreams and waking Moments as sudden sobbing captures Me unexpectedly breaking my heart again. Paul David Walker Memorial Day, 2012
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