The pride in his uniform,
He wore that first day,
Glowed like a beacon
As he went away.
Now his legacy
Too soon has become
A gun salute, folded flag, and taps.
A hero to some.
They meet him at the airport,
Dark day, so forlorn.
Body in coffin,
The family mourn.
Among the medals
The warrior has worn,
A gun salute, folded flag, and taps,
As fighting was borne
Now the pride of his parents
Is tattered and torn.
Gone now the promise
The day he was born.
The vast horizons
Are not what they guessed,
A gun salute, folded flag, and taps.
A son is at rest.
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Author Notes
With Veterans Day coming up, I was thinking about the loss that so many families feel when their loved ones come home in a casket. The mix of pride and loss is real. This is a photograph taken at a National Cemetery. I tried to show how many have served by capturing a sea of tombstones, and a mother or wife, there mourning. Let us honor and remember the sacrifice of all who have served.
Pronounce warrior as 2 syllables.
This poem is a Lyricat,
Congratulations are due for a newly invented verse form by I am Cat, a fellow FanStorian, which she calls a LyriCat (See 'Refreshing My Soul', posted on 29 October).
A LyriCat has a syllable count of:
7, 5, 5 , 5, 5, 5, 9, 5,
and the rhyme scheme of each individual stanza is:
a, b, c, b, d, e, F, e.
No set rhythm is prescribed. It has a 3 stanza minimum and the 9 syllable line (F) in each stanza is a repeating line.
The author's photograph.
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