A Trumpet to End

It was just another autumn day,
The leaves glowed yellow, orange, and red.
Fast moving clouds passed in front of the sun,
Casting shadows like giant ships.

The small crowd gathered in a hidden meadow,
A mass of dark clothes, moving so slow.
The casket they followed was draped with a flag,
Its final destination was already prepared.

Seven riflemen stood motionless and rigid,
Doing their job for someone not known.
The man of the hour served years ago,
And just now being honored, forgotten glory.

The mahogany box was positioned over its elected hole,
A white handkerchief fell to the ground.
Heads bowed down with final words said,
A blue jay shrieked for the intrusion.

The first round of gunfire, the crowd jumped as one,
The second and third just the same.
Clouds of smoke drifted towards the creek,
A triangular flag was handed down.

Taps was sounded in the distance but near,
Played with sincerity and respect for the dead.
If not for just one, but for all who have fallen,
Then it was done...and all walked away.