Poem
The terrifying sight of two military officers in dress uniforms and solemn look marching down often mean streets seeking an address for a family notification of a death of a soldier inspired this poem during the Vietnam War. It applies today as well. By the way, I’m a former infantry officer and Army ranger (in peacetime).
Pass On
Bearer of death’s tidings to soldier’s kin
Stalk not mean streets
Shreik not in hearth’s serenity
Let our soldier sons live
Beribboned, bedecked with glories past
Your acquaintance unmet
Your knock unheard
Let our soldier sons live
Pass on bugler from carnage field
Still your dirge
March to another rhythm
Let our soldier sons live
Would that, like Persian kings,
we could dispatch you
And by so dispatching
Banish the tidings
Restore time
Resurrect our fallen to life
Pass on
John Delaney
1971-1972 |
