Among these weathered markers, rows
on rows on rows on endless lawn
My steps disturb a couple crows
Who bustle awkwardly and are gone.
The echoes of parading drums
Still advertise this warrior trade
To millions more whose martyrdoms
Will follow in their own parade.
The dead get their memorial day,
The color guard and rear guard pass,
While silent stones still stretch away
Across the green and level grass.
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