out the window front of the wing
our soldiers have no rank
no cross or star or pentacle
no separate identity
drum and bugle corps
uniformity fashions
one synchronized
anonymous pattern
precision performance
the song they play never ends
rat-a-tat-tat of the snares
ticking time to the whump of the bass
brass blasting their cry
sun brilliant on bells
endless practice
perfecting their steps
expanding the band
the breadth of design
lively stepping
lines pivot and merge
never tripping
or bumping
or falling
Your eyes captured their spirit from a distance – your heart recorded the poem – I smiled…
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Thank you. I think this one might need some revision, but I like the image.
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