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Rated: E · Poetry · War · #1025243
On the 11th hour of the 11th day, in the eleventh month I came to pray.
On the 11th hour of the 11th day,
in the eleventh month I came to pray,
for my brave brother, now sleeping...

Beneath the flowing green of Arlington.
They are playing the bugle in your honor.
In the eleventh month I came to pray.

Gently whisper, "God is Nigh, God is Nigh."
Rest well my young soldier.
They are playing the bugle in your honor.

Your country called as it does every generation.
You answered the call well.
Rest well my young soldier.

Here below a snapping flag,
my tears wet your white stone.
You answered the call well.

You lay surrounded by this generations heroes.
My tears wet your white stone.
On the 11th hour of the 11th day,
in the eleventh month I came to pray.
© Copyright 2005 Lou-Here By His Grace (tattsnteeth2 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1025243