In the blood red sunset I hear the sound.
It resounds, resounds, resounds
with the lonely bugle call that brings
each soul from the hell that was there,
together again as comrades in despair.
In the darkness that follows the sun
a new day is born, begun
with pearl pink streaks of light
that cannot be seen at sunset or night.
I touch my wife, my sleeping grandchild,
and think awhile.
Perhaps these wasted dead are heros
that have made
God smile.
(War in Iraq)