I might post later on, I might not. We shall see how the evening progresses.
a poem though -
hors de combat
for the dead and dying; to you, I bow low.
it is another footprint we
leave in death, last
of our own,
another in the scores
of the bewildered mourners.
you did not break form when
abandoning the body,
exchanging it to worms for dirt.
those left shall make new footprints
from remembrance of you.
leaving fading impressions in the grass.
- Hoc Scripsi
First off, you guys are just getting hammered back there. I almost feel guilty for our weather.
ReplyDeleteI like the poem a lot Jhon. My grandma always said that you're never really gone, until no one remembers your name. I guess the footprints of the mourners is applies to that. At least for a while...
Brrr--sending warm breezes to you al up north.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful poem. In light of my recent loss, I will find comfort in these words..
I will always remember all she was..always..
i can't help but imagine the grass will forever holds the soldier in its open arms..
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading this. It affected me on many levels. As an ex-military man myself I cringe at all those forgotten names. As a family man with many loved ones I hope to god I smoosh the grass down real good so it maybe never grows back and my feet are always seen. Thansk for sharing this piece.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great piece. I have many friends that will forever bare those fading impressions. A beautiful tribute Jhon, and one that has made me weep this chilled February morn.
ReplyDelete