Muffled Drums
Down through the ages
The drum’s played its part.
Roll the drums softly.
For ‘twas the call of the drum
That said war was to start.
Roll the drums softly.
Drums would sound them to battle,
Drums would march into fray,
‘T was the drums that were heard,
As dead were carried away.
So keep this in mind,
Heed history my friend.
And Roll the drums softly.
History’s shown, in any conflict,
There’s never a Winner, just losers.
So roll the drums softly.
Eric Valentine Sept 8/02 ©
C'ya
6 comments:
Eric, I loved the poem. When I was in high school, I mentioned wanting to go to France during Thanksgiving dinner. "No," said Uncle Jay firmly. "You don't want to go there." Jay was my grandmother's brother. He had been to France and the memories still haunted him. He had been a drummer boy in France at the age of 14! Never got to ask him how that came to be , , ,
Thank you Forsythia for your visit and interesting story from your teenage life, too bad you never got the answer. Glad you enjoyed the poem.. :)
War muffles everything, including voices of the veterans. Nice poem.
Hi Cyclopseven, nice to see you here once more. Thank you for your observation and kind words.. :)
Hi Eric, long time no see. I am a bit late for commenting on this post, but, living on a British military base in Germany, I feel connected. I have a few military friends here, among them one who is a major, and I often wonder where he got all those scars on the right side of his face and his right hand from. I do not know him well enough to ask, but they must be from shrapnel in Iraq or Afghanistan. I guess he is lucky to be here.
Your poem was rather touching.
Hi Swen, I can't imagine living on an army base all the time, but of course I understand your circumstances for that. :)
To have wounds on his right arm as well sounds like a natural reaction to ward something off which I am sure you are right in thinking shrapnel. He is indeed very lucky.... I can feel his pain.. Do take care my friend and thank you for your nice words.. :))
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