we thought he was our future
young and vital and strong
like a weed to the scythe
in an instant he was gone
half masted flags
uneasily move
old glory
draped
gun carriage
boots hang
soles uppermost
from stirrups
saddled horse
riderless
leads the cortege
that day
we mourned
a warrior
in an instant he was gone
like a weed to the scythe
young and vital and strong
we thought he was our future
