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The Fallen (poem)

By Don "Doc" Mercer

The drums have stopped; the pipes are still!
A final volley of Rifles fire
and Taps are sounded
the Toll of WAR
Now He lies in final rest with fellows
lost before
in neat rows
of white marker
gravestones
and crosses
marshaling
in neat lines where
comrades rest
in timeless
repose
waiting for
Bugle calls
signalling
Final Assembly
when War
will end
Swords
will be
melted and
Bodies reformed

—Don "Doc" Mercer