Country cemetery. Marched all the way.
We stood in formation, took off our caps.
Stood with the nation, we played taps
Year before Kennedy, year before King.
Last year I cared about anything.
But for that moment, we were one.
Notes drifted across the plains.
Swallows signaled oncoming rain.
Station wagons, pickup trucks
Rescued us then turned to rust
We put on new uniforms
Crisp, creased. Tattered, well-worn
Some forget where we come from
Some come to rest
When he was twelve, took my only son
Lost ourselves in the Smithsonian
Then Abraham, above the Mall.
Then raised our hands, touched the wall.
Headstone horizon, eternal flame
Unknown lie with familiar names
Sacrificed daughters and sons
So I could cry
[Photo credit: Big Universe Learning]