He never heard the voiceof a political puppet
He only heard the sound
of a heavenly trumpet
What a golden voice
that he fought for
in this land of choice
Dad - in the army
under the red, white and blue
Dad, blew his trumpet; and fought bravely
for me
and you
The taps - later, at so many funerals
he played
On that cold windy hill - he quivered
yet brave
he buried his sister
and brother-in-law too
that same day - dad never skipped a note
and that sweet sound of his music
resounded; echoed
over the caskets
remembered and cherished
through
and
through
Then dad's turn came -
he left mom; my sisters
my brother
and me -
May;
in the spring
of 1993
Now I hear my dad when I see
that early morning sky
I know he's making music
when that horizon is bright and blue.
Blew, blew - the wind and his
breath...
Dad, how I miss
you in this
form
we call
'death'.....
