Over Black Coffee and Gunpowder Tea
served with
Mid afternoon, yesterday, I received the following Memorial Day writing. It is never to late to think about those who gave their life for our country.
Roger Summers served as an Editorial Writer for the Fort Worth Star Telegram news paper.
They went away to places they maybe had never heard of, could not spell, could not pronounce.
Places like Marne, Meuse-Argonne, Bell eau-Wood.
Places like Leyte, Okinawa, Guadalcanal, Saipan, Iwo Jima, Normandy.
Dien Bien Phu, Saigon, Baghdad.
They went away in great numbers.
Ripped, yanked from the lives they had known.
Away from the umbilical cord of home.
With no idea when they might get back, if ever.
Duty, loyalty, purpose summoned them.
And, in the end, duty, loyalty, purpose, claimed them.
Claimed them in great numbers, numbers too large to precisely count, exactly know.
So on this Memorial Day we remember them.
Proudly, reassuringly the flags will gloriously wave, tugging mightily at the heart, soul.
Majestically, buoyantly the bands will call up the tunes – the fanfares, overtures — that inspire.
Bring lump to throat. Tear to eye.
Paid so those here on this Memorial Day can go on, be all we might be.
To pursue fulfillment and its proffered cup-runneth-over blessings.