Farewell to a Soldier
Upon a grassy hill,
And while we bowed our heads in prayer,
The wind was whistling shrill.
My mind went back to other days,
When Michael was but ten,
And running with the wind at play;
For the wind was Michael's friend.
They raced and flew his kite so high,
And laughing with the sun,
They ran and played together,
From morn' till day was done.
And then the bugler sounded taps . . .
We slowly walked away.
And the wind a dirge was singing
Where the brave young soldier lay.
Author Bio
[Editor's note: Mike was killed by "friendly fire" in Vietnam at age eighteen.]
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