November Bugles
November bugles blare while the living salute the dead,
those deceased of yesteryear’s wars, battles for hills, fields,
towns, cities, country sides and their tomorrows,
lay quiet in graves the world over,
never speaking to say how they feel or give their thoughts
on what we have become, what we have made of this world
they left behind.
They can’t even recognize the beautiful poppies
and other flowers adorning their resting places
to say if they like them or not or even pick and smell one!
They can’t go home to a mother’s cooked Sunday dinner
or shake their father’s hand in greetings
and returning “welcome homes”.
They can’t feel the warmth of the sun
or see the silver light of the moon in the dark of a night,
feel rain or snow or wind or love or
see today’s Legion members selling poppies in shopping malls.
They gave their lives - they are the dead who died
that we might live to remember them each year with
November bugles.
.
W.C.Hull © 2019 -11-11
Copyright © W.C. Hull | Year Posted 2018
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