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A Memorial Day Poem
The blood was as blood can be
sticky, red and wet.
War was as, war will be
one just wont forget.
The call to arms was gave to some,
in time, some gave all.
A day was given as troops were drilled
to that bugle call.
White stones appear now, before you
quiet, all in a row.
Fine lawn and thistles tangle
the four winds gather slow.
A white stone of ancient meanings
given admission, a pass.
Eternity drawn upon each one
a final name to last.
A white stone for the Soldier
the Airman and Marine.
The Seaman silent, Guardsman
that we may, live and dream.
Copyright 2011 Joel Tankersley
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