do so, a illion ghosts olive drab, brown khaki, blue and gray, would rise fro their white crosses thunderg those agic words: duty, honor, untry
this does not an that you are war ongers
on the ntrary, the soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he t suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war
but always our ears rg the oo words of pto that wisest of all philosophers: “only the dead have seen the end of war”
the shadows are lengtheng for the ilight is here y days of old have vanished, tone and tt they have gone glirg through the dreas of thgs that were their ory is one of wondro beauty, watered by tears, and axed and caressed by the siles of yesterday i listen valy, but with thirsty ears, for the witchg lody of fat bugles blog reveille, of far dr beatg the long roll y dreas i hear aga the crash of guns, the rattle of ketry, the strange, ournful utter of the battlefield
but the eveng of y ory, always ie back to west pot
always there echoes and re-echoes: duty, honor, untry
today arks y fal roll call with you, but i want you to know that when i cross the river y st nscio thoughts will be of the rps, and the rps, and the rps
i bid you farewell</p>