The sound carries gently to distant hills,
for some it means tears, for others, perhaps chills.
The music that is played is a haunting sound,
another veteran lost, another to the ground.
Some lost in battle, from an enemy’s rage,
some raise their families, and pass from old age.
Those to be escorted by this haunting sound,
are those who stood firmly, for this country’s ground.
It matters not if we are black, red, or white,
rich or poor, we have all earned the right.
Loved ones say goodbye, to our body, our shell,
but we stand next to you, as you play Taps,
our last song of farewell.
Image and words by
Randy James Cole