View Coyote's pages the way they were intended to be viewed.
Break out of frames
Small flags bloom on selected graves,
planted by green-uniformed boys of
Troop 97, excitedly but respectfully
Some flags compete with other blooms
some stand alone, the only notice of remembrance.
Later, near the flagpole, the boys stand
stiffly saluting with three fingers as
Old men in Legionnaire's hats shoulder
rifles and attempt to stay in step.
Rifles shouldered and fired,
once, twice, three times...
(Old shoulders will ache tonight)
Taps, blown yearly by the high school band director.
From the back of the crowd, a voice, female,
old and quaking, barely but clearly heard,
"Day is done, gone the sun..."
The voice goes on, alone to the end,
"All is well, safely rest, God is nigh."
The old men march away,
boys scramble to collect shell casings,
souvenir of the day, and the crowd heads
for homes, backyard barbeques, crops.
Another summer has come.
In the shade , near a flagged grave,
an old woman , small and frail,
lingers, remembering.
©1997 William W. Davis
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