San Francisco National Cemetery
(Photograph ©Copyright November 11, 2002 by Anthony W. Pahl)
THE GHOST OF THEIR BOOTS
See the white markers
in long, perfect rows.
Each one a life given for
those they didn't even know.
The ghosts of their boots
through flowers and grass,
now walk gently, hushed,
while we remember as we pass.
If you listen closely,
you can almost hear,
sounds of the battles
they fought and won, so dear.
Willingly and selflessly
they answered the call
so there could be freedom
for one and for all.
Their sacrifice was great.
Their lives they laid down,
to secure our freedoms
from blood bought ground.
These are precious children
of families and greatly missed.
Never again to be hugged.
Never again to be kissed.
Through the years
these fields have grown,
as war after war,
mankind has sown.
When will we finally hear
God's missive to love others.
It's sad to say that until we do,
there will be weeping fathers and mothers.
So here we now stand
in the sun and the wind.
They'll never again feel
on their sacrificed skin.
The ghosts of their boots
now pass in review
before our great Commander
to lovingly view.
We can almost imagine
the words of the Almighty One:
"Well done, my good and
faithful servants, well done."