Charles J. Ingerson


Beating slow and steady
drums of movement slow
echoes of the distance
marching many to death:

Each beat a last breath
eternal an existence
into the eternity to flow
never is one ready;

Reflective drums beating
rhythms often meeting
long in their greeting
in moments fleeting:

Hallowed is the sound
where soldiers patrol
widows kneel to pray
long gone is the day:

In foreign lands to stay
no longer able to play
long the list to unroll
deep in the ground!