Poem 'The Eagle's Watch' (vanity)

8/19/11

[Kartographer]

Earilier this week a a thread was posted here about a gentleman name Frank Glick who took a picture of an eagle resting on a veteran's gravestone at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, The story really touched me and so I wrote this poem to go with the picture.

The Eagle’s Watch
In a quite river valley,
Lies a green and peaceful place,
Were warriors come to rest,
Having honorably met their fates.

No more do they stand the watch
Their worthy service done,
They’ve passed their duties on
To other Fathers' sons.

Yet flying high above them,
On silent wings spread wide,
Soars freedom's embodiment
And a country's sign of pride

The mighty Eagle watches o'er all
And guards their well-earned rests.
For he like they, knows the feel
Of Freedom in his chest.

And though he does his best to guard
The fallen warriors' sleep.
Still at times he grows so weary
And must rest his wings a-beat.

So slowly he glides his way
To where the fallen rest,
And there he bides his time a bit
Among the honored Vets.

And though he knows no words
Of the valiant warriors' speech,
Still they communicate
In a way that words can't reach.

Having communed with those who lie
Among the rows of stone,
The Eagle takes to flight again
And resumes his post alone.

In endless soaring circles,
He surely makes his rounds,
Guarding the fallen heroes
Who make this hollowed ground.

[grey_whiskers]

"Well Done, sir" *PING*

Please read the article at the head of the thread.

Thanks, Kartographer.

[Diotima4]

In a quiet river valley,
Lies a green and peaceful place
Where warriors come to rest,
Having honorably met their fates.

No more do they stand the watch
Their worthy service done,
They’ve passed their duties on
To other parents’ young.

Yet flying high above them,
On silent wings spread wide,
Soars freedom’s embodiment
And a country’s sign of pride.

The mighty eagle watches o’er all,
And guards their well-earned knolls.
The eagle knows, like they, the feel
Of freedom in their souls.

And though eagles do their best
To guard the warriors’ sleep
Still at times get weary
And rest their wings a-beat.

So slowly one glides away
To where the fallen rest,
And there bides time a bit
Among the honored vets.

And though knows no words
Of the valiant warriors’ speech,
Still they communicate
In a way that words can’t reach.

Having communed with those who lie
Among the rows of stone,
The eagle takes to flight again
And resumes the post alone.

In endless soaring circles,
Makes the certain rounds,
Guarding the fallen warriors
Who make this hallowed ground.

(Kartographer’s version made it seem that only men die in combat, I’m sure unintentionally.)