You can still see the old, stone wall
Where those soldiers once stood in a row
Standing firm in the face of fire
For the country they believed in
And in which we live today,
Sacrificing themselves in the hour of trial
On this ground hallowed by their blood.
But the drum taps, the bugle notes,
The sound of gunfire,
The smell of black powder
And the shouts and screams of the dying
Seem drowned out by the passing cars,
Construction equipment and boom boxes, now.
The names etched on those fading headstones,
The worn figures balanced precariously
On top of those out of fashion monuments
Seem forgotten as the traffic goes by
Without pausing, as indifferent school children
Play street games around them
And the shopppers hurry by carrying their bags.
Brandywine and Saratoga, Shiloh and Gettysburg
Are just names in old history books,
Things cluttering up the attic of the country,
Weathered plaques along the side of the road.
All that once sacred blood and bone
Lies burried under shopping centers
And parking lots, office buildings, baseball stadiums,
Apartments and amusement parks.
And these clouds seem like tattered flags
Left behind on the battlefield.
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