I saw the soldiers marching, one drear November day,
Those heroes bold, from wars of old, in countries far away.
I heard the drums like thunder, the sound of marching feet,
As men of ancient valor marched down our little street.
I heard the skirl of bagpipes, the blare of brasses bold,
As heroes from another time relived the days of old.
The old, the halt, the lame, the slow, they marched with solemn pace,
To honor comrades fallen at another time and place.
I felt the tightness in my throat, the tears that burned my eyes,
As I watched the quiet dignity of old men marching by.
The fine young men, and women too, in battles long ago,
Who gave their youth and some, their lives,to fight our country’s foe.
On this day will be remembered by comrades who remain,
And by the heavens, weeping, with softly falling rain.
The medals softly jingling on every passing chest,
In memory of companions who’ve long been laid to rest.
There are some unfit, and some who sit, in wheelchairs, row on row,
While they recall what price was paid to turn our country’s foe.
And some will stand with tear-dimmed eyes, and some with faces grim,
While all repeat the solemn vow,
“WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.”
2004 A. Lawrence Vaincourt
In honor of Veterans Day