Grandpa, what are the drums a-saying? They beat so long, and beat so low; And you old soldiers step together So solemn-like, and sad, and slow. They're saying, boy, that we remember The lads that held the sticks before; And we are marching now together Who soon will meet and march no more. Grandpa, what are the bugles saying? Their music sounds so sad and sweet, It almost takes me up to Heaven, Where I could kiss the angels' feet. They're telling, boy, of a better country With brighter sky and softer air; And they who dared to die for duty Are gone to live forever there. Grandpa, why do we take the flowers And leave them on the ground to die, With little flags among them waving? You dropped them there, and so did I. We take the flowers, boy, and leave them Above the soldier-dead to-day Because their sweetness still reminds us That bitterness has passed away. Why do so many people, grandpa, Go to the church, and pray, and sing, And speak some poems and orations And never want to end the thing? They go because they never tire The story of the war to hear, And they are grateful to the soldiers, This soldier-day of all the year. Then don't you cry about it, grandpa; The tears are running down your face; When you are buried with the others I'll be a soldier in your place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS WAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SUGGESTED BY THE COVER OF A VOLUME OF KEATS'S POEMS by AMY LOWELL HONEY DRIPPER by CLARENCE MAJOR UNWANTED MEMORY by CLARENCE MAJOR |