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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210910
by George
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2210910
Inspired by a farewell speech the General delivered at West Point.
On the Death of General MacArthur

The evening shadows creep along the wall now,
The world outside the window’s growing dark.
Out of the past I hear the bugle call now;
The bullets that I dodged now find their mark.

Like wine, the days I marched upon the plain there
At West Point now grow faint through sixty years.
Marred by a thousand soldiers who have lain there
Upon the fields of battle, fraught with tears.

It is, perhaps, a General’s damnation
To grow old while so many soldiers died.
They fell believing Duty, Honor, Nation
Were worth the creed by which all soldiers bide.

The phantom bullets pierce deep into my heart now,
My time has come to tap death’s fearsome door.
Yet do I once more rally with a start now
And cry with failing voice, "The Corps! The Corps!"
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210910