The Toast
Glasses full raised to long dead buddy's. We speak loudly of courage and honor and sometimes the fear. When all to remember is what is here. The field of battle; true thoughts hidden. Of a nightmare born of hell as the story unfolds.
Those that live past the hell of battle wait for our turn to hear the rattle. We live in our hopes for our wives and children, that they see no more of this hellish dream.
The price was paid by many with blood, oh so many young faces no wife or children, for their gift you see was the reason.
Worthy our hope for the price that was paid, only time will tell of the choice was made.
And yet we sit again with our glasses full. Another salute to a folded flag comes due.
Our tears flow upon that folded flag to say goodbye to another comrade.
Those that live past the hell of battle wait for our turn to hear the rattle. We live in our hopes for our wives and children, that they see no more of this hellish dream.
The price was paid by many with blood, oh so many young faces no wife or children, for their gift you see was the reason.
Worthy our hope for the price that was paid, only time will tell of the choice was made.
And yet we sit again with our glasses full. Another salute to a folded flag comes due.
Our tears flow upon that folded flag to say goodbye to another comrade.
© 2008 Words the Windows to the Soul
We will never forget them Mark
ReplyDeletefor they live in our hearts
Take care
Sue