Saturday, June 5, 2010

Caisson Point

A laurel wreath, a hardy handshake, and a twenty-one gun salute.

Folded flag, broken hearts, shattered families, futures lost.

Widows wonder, orphans cry, as even more are sent to die.

Honor the fallen, the wounded, and maimed.

Question why with each thought of their name.

Parades end up in picnics. Soldiers end up in graves.

War is a killing thing. Mute the hip-hip hooray.

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