One Hundred Bugle Calls

You cannot hear the bugle call the last post
You cannot see the bright colours draped
You cannot feel the warmth of the twelve strong arms
You cannot smell the polished leather of the hearse
You cannot taste the tears of those who cry "Fare thee well, brother"

Wootten Basset stands in sorrowing silence as you pass by
The church bell sobs and the tears fall like rain
The faithful are gathered once more
The old, the young, the ones you never knew, the ones you never met,
The mother, the smiling child who called you "Daddy",
And, as you pass, my prayer for you
Is not for you, but for those you left behind,
To do what we can to serve our fellow men,
Wether they be young, old, friend or stranger,
As God did tell us who was thy neighbour,
For that is the correct and proper manner to honour a fallen warrior.

Rest in peace Sergeant John Amer