« 4.5.07 | Main | David: Declassified In 2034 »

April 5, 2007

Jim: The Bell Tolls

Rough rocks and trees
Once skinned his knees,
When he’d been a boy.

Under somber skies, the mourners arrived.

Deep love and pride
Swelled from inside,
His teen years were a joy.

The mourners took their seats and the eulogies began.

With honor and nerve
He swore to serve.
He was known as tough yet mild.

Barely stifled sobs rocked the field of mourners.

On foreign ground,
He’d taken a round,
That was meant for a child.

Seven carbines each barked three times while the bugle pealed.

His curtailed life
Held pleasure and strife,
And he had died a man.

Bookmark: del.icio.us • Digg • reddit

Comments

I'm betting that your positive rankings are for the poem's sentiment rather than for my crappy poem.

But thanks anyway!

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at April 5, 2007 10:37 AM · Permalink