At Arlington

             No Man’s Heart is ever made of such cold hewn Stone,
             That he could then with tearless Eye observe, alone,
             The Dignitaries who come by with Floral Wreaths to lay,
             Would see our full-dressed Military Band both Anthems play;
             In Awe, bowed Heads stay down in silent Tribute,
             While distant Guns echo one more sad Salute;
             The Old Guard proudly stands its reverent Watch each Day,
             With Pomp and Circumstance; true Colors on Display,
             Platoons from five Services, in somber Cadence marched up the thirteen Steps from below,
             To be on either Side of the white marbled Monument, did Respect and Honor show!

             This resting Place is reserved for those who justly served,
             But gave their Lives so Freedom should be for all preserved;
             These Fallen and Forgotten now bravely sleep beneath green Grass Rows,
             Though amongst them lie the special few whom only God for Certain knows;
             Each and every War has had its Heroes slain,
             Yet here is where ours, with Care and Love, remain;
             Oh, on this lonely historic Island, Arlington,
             The final Home for far too many a Mother’s Son,
             A solemn haunting Drumroll begins and I tremble, perhaps,
             Because I can still hear that mournful Bugler playing Taps!

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© Howard B. Eskin 2003