It was never really about us
but I admit I was uneasy
about being accepted, and permitted to honor
The young man who wasn't the first
to die, a mother's third son
and the second she's lost.
The men and women proved welcoming
of me, and we were shortly on to our duty
of showing the fellow's father our gratitude.
Young women and men walked in, uncertain,
and the older generation already knew
what was coming, a celebration, and goodbye.
Past our colors, into the church where he lay flag-draped
and his last brother waited
to see his parents in torment again.
But the Corporal's superior told of courage
and determination, and resolve to achieve
what he intended his life to be.
The old men toughened against
December's fury and their own memories.
They didn't want to see this again.
Marines, soldiers, and sailors
pushed aside the biting cold, and endured
in his honor, in his memory.
Shots fired and prayers offered,
both startling in their finality
then roses, and deliberate salutes
And we stood by
offering what we had to offer, however feeble
But it was never really about us.
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