Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 5-28-07

Outside the dazzle of dress blues,
And the stance of parade rest,
Though death awaits with its many hues;
We still move at the commander’s behest.

We go where many would deem insane,
The regiment to lock horns with a foe;
We don’t forget the loves that remain,
Their absence we carry as common woe.

Who will stand for us, at our final rest,
To play “Taps” and honor us?
Who’ll remember we cleaned up that mess,
Life snatched, with our face in the dust?

My buddy lies cold within my sun-burnt hands,
His blue eyes stilled and far away;
You’ve found your rest, as God commands,
I’ll see you again, on another day.

Hear me, Lord, amidst these battle cries,
Please take home this faithful friend;
Remember us, God, with all our sighs,
When Your peace comes, and war will end.

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