Beating Drum

One-hundred feet
trampled by….
to the aches
of the beating drum.

Their rhythm
called the souls
, which feel
the stoic virtue
and the thunder -
of the guns.

Fold the flags
dry the tears -
then stand at ease…

Hoist your drinks to them.

These boys, these men
the lads -
a hand upon my chest
I feel you there -

and the ache
of the beating….. drum.