No alarms
Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste --
Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
No alarms
Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste --
Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
Anthem for Doomed Youth What passing-bells for these who die as cattle Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries for them no prayers nor bells, Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, - The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells And bugles calling for them from sad shires. What candles may be held to speed them all Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Rough Riders took 13 weeks to shoot, plus a week of training. The same guy trained us trained the cast in Platoon. Except, instead of radios, we used bugles to signal.
Our bugles sang truce - for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.
Death is the supple Suitor That wins at last It is a stealthy Wooing Conducted first By pallid innuendoes And dim approach But brave at last with Bugles
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories