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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
A Memorial Day Poem
The blood was as blood can be,
sticky, red and wet.
War was as, war will be,
one just won't forget.
The call to arms was gave to some,
in time, some gave all.
A day was given as troops were drilled,
to that bugle call.
White stones appear now before you,
quiet, all in a row.
Fine lawn and thistles tangle,
the four winds gather slow.
A white stone of ancient meanings,
given admission, a pass.
Eternity drawn upon each one,
a final name to last.
A white stone for the Soldier,
the Airman and Marine.
The Seaman, silent Guardsman,
that we may live and dream.
Copyright Joel Tankersley
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