Granite Gray, Marble White
(In remembrance of fallen servicemen)
The setting is a national cemetery, or the military section of any cemetery,
with the rows of identical crosses or stones; and how they arrived there,
for a lifelong faithful duty, for those whose faithful duty is over.
The Most Difficult Poem I Ever Wrote:
Rows and rows of faithful soldiers, keeping watch until the dawn
Over the beds of finest men and women, that ever nation spawned.
Whence came these quiet soldiers, with steady, unwavering gaze,
Who watch o’er their beloved, through dimming evening haze?
From the bowels of earth and mountainside, from edges of earth’s crust,
The drill, blast, scoop, have yielded them from out a cloud of dust.
Unknown to fellow travelers who journeyed their same road,
With similar wheels and engines to bear their heavy load,
They came! To this green carpet, for years to solemn stand,
To mark the final resting of the choicest of the land.
And now, in ceaseless vigil, with crest of morning dew,
They serve their fallen comrade; and mark a spot beneath the blue.
Both here by accuracy of man, machine, and blast of power,
From that great noise and energy, to this quiet, solemn bower.
One from dark earth to sun, the other from sun to dark earth.
The end of one’s tumultuous watch became the other’s birth.
Yet, we would have it different now, and trade one for the other,
And have again in loving arms: dad, mom, sister, son, or brother.
But no reply from partners, still. No matter loud the tears,
No response from either soldier, in this or other years.
Naught! But quiet example, of service, brave and true.
Their steady gaze and forward press, their gift to me and you.
If one reflects on what they say, with voices now unheard,
They speak their timeless message still, without an uttered word.
In appreciation of the soldiers’ gift to us, which was with great loss to their families.
© Tom B. Bandy
4/23/03 – 4/30/04
The setting is a national cemetery, or the military section of any cemetery,
with the rows of identical crosses or stones; and how they arrived there,
for a lifelong faithful duty, for those whose faithful duty is over.
The Most Difficult Poem I Ever Wrote:
Rows and rows of faithful soldiers, keeping watch until the dawn
Over the beds of finest men and women, that ever nation spawned.
Whence came these quiet soldiers, with steady, unwavering gaze,
Who watch o’er their beloved, through dimming evening haze?
From the bowels of earth and mountainside, from edges of earth’s crust,
The drill, blast, scoop, have yielded them from out a cloud of dust.
Unknown to fellow travelers who journeyed their same road,
With similar wheels and engines to bear their heavy load,
They came! To this green carpet, for years to solemn stand,
To mark the final resting of the choicest of the land.
And now, in ceaseless vigil, with crest of morning dew,
They serve their fallen comrade; and mark a spot beneath the blue.
Both here by accuracy of man, machine, and blast of power,
From that great noise and energy, to this quiet, solemn bower.
One from dark earth to sun, the other from sun to dark earth.
The end of one’s tumultuous watch became the other’s birth.
Yet, we would have it different now, and trade one for the other,
And have again in loving arms: dad, mom, sister, son, or brother.
But no reply from partners, still. No matter loud the tears,
No response from either soldier, in this or other years.
Naught! But quiet example, of service, brave and true.
Their steady gaze and forward press, their gift to me and you.
If one reflects on what they say, with voices now unheard,
They speak their timeless message still, without an uttered word.
In appreciation of the soldiers’ gift to us, which was with great loss to their families.
© Tom B. Bandy
4/23/03 – 4/30/04
