A Salute to Patrick at Punchbowl Cemetery
(A Military Burial)
The soldiers stood cemented to the grassy ground
Like statues, while Buddhist sutras filled the air.
Movement would dishonor the man who once stood
In his uniform, like his comrades today.
The three – gun salute, the wailing taps,
The precision of the folding of the flag,
A salute purified by white gloves
For the presentation of the symbolic flag.
Each step of ultimate precision, a tribute to dignity,
Honor and respect for the fallen soldier,
From the country whom he had served
With love, dignity and honor.
Whatever Alzheimer’s had stolen from him,
All was returned to him today.
Whatever memories, forgotten,
The country that he loved, remembered.
A final rest in peace.
Frances H. Kakugawa
This is what a country should do to people who have served her.
Frances, reading this poem reminded me of an episode in my own life where a young soldier, 18 years old, a former teammate of my son, died in Vietnam. Out of this memory I wrote “Too Young,” trying to recapture how I felt at the time.