the dawn was still, hushed silence ascended as every kind of people stood side by side. young faces; pretty & fresh, old faces that wore years in beautiful lines. and the pipes sang out breaking the dawn. proud men slightly stooped now, in pressed suits medals & poppies they cried silent tears. younger men stood behind them, eyes not seen what older ones have nor heard the cries of suffering; brothers lost. as voices sang out, a song I did not know I gripped my husbands hand tightly as we hummed. the sun greeted the dawn a light cast on a sea of white; Bomana this sacred ground. the bugul called long & proud the last post & we are washed in gratitude.
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"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We will remember them." An excerpt taken from the poem, "The Fallen" by Robert Laurence Binyon.
04/25/2017