ORDER ARMS

BY SPC FLINT CHRISTENSEN

Today I saw a soldier as he boarded on a plane.

Heading for his mother land, with glory to his name

Victory, victory, was his battle cry.

Freedom’s vengeance cast no alibi.

His troubles are over now; his journey is done.

His battle is finished, though the war is not won.

The soldier’s a hero, with valor he led.

The soldier’s a hero; the soldier is dead.

I did not know this man, silhouetted in the colors.

Held high before his travels and carried by his brothers.

But as I stood saluting him, my eyes were filled with tears.

For I knew his journey home, was too soon for his years.

The arm is never heavier than the honored last salute.

And never more deserving, of this there’s no dispute.

To hear about our fallen, is a grief we all must share.

To take one off the battlefield’s a task no-one should bear.

We revel in our strength, unfettered might, and true.

But the greatest courage I have seen, lay on the backs of few.

A soldier who is stalwart, needs not his act defend.

Sobbing for his comrade, when at his journeys’ end.

I’ve seen the blight of honor and know its wretched vile.

I’ve seen the ones who love it so, who walk down its last mile.

When reveille is called, and when the flag is raised.

Remember what you saw today, and to whom you should praise.

Order arms.