Cadence

Miles away,
  a bugler plays taps.
Cadence is heard,
  by the beat of a drum.

Dusty country road,
  an old farm house lingers.
Red barn.
  and a silo full of corn.

Screen door slams,
  from an afternoon breeze.
Perfect folded flag,
  sits alone on the kitchen table.

Soaked with tears,
  from a warrior’s loved one.
Cost of freedom,
  not even the wealthy can buy.

Drum continues to tap,
  rat a tat tat.
Voices never heard again,
  but their beat goes on throughout eternity.

by ken snyder 

Pray for our troops daily