Six Crosses
Six Crosses
We are a small town,
With a small town’s cemetery.
Our Legion Post is small too,
And fits the town to a tee.
For 35 years I’ve belonged
And it means a lot to me.
We can’t do much
But we do 1 thing yearly.
We close ranks
Around Memorial Day,
Marching in ceremony.
Our steps falter with our hearts.
The town is slowly dying,
As so many small towns are,
And our building is gone.
We are singing our last song.
Membership dies with the town.
In sadness I weep at truth,
The facts burn me like the sun.
It won’t be long and we’re done.
We are a Post in heart and soul,
But they will pass with the clouds.
Old stories will not be told.
There won’t even be lingering doubt.
A few of us march each year,
Our heads bowed in respect.
The wind doesn’t cause the tears
That trickle down our cheeks.
We cry as we salute
Those who fought and passed beyond.
We cry also for ourselves,
Knowing we are the last
That care enough to pray
And remember those who passed.
Who will memorialize us?
Who will be left to salute?
Buildings have turned to empty lots,
The school and Legion are gone.
The cemetery grows each year
But soon the 6 crosses will be alone.
Where once there stood a dozen
Of us there are now too few.
The few of us are a Post in spirit,
Remembering those who built it
At first and planted the love in us.
We are there for them
Standing in rain or blowing dust.
Some years there are only 6 of us.
The old families are gone,
The memories left with them.
The images of the past
Lie buried ‘neath the markers.
We few know the names
That adorn those 6 crosses,
But the sacrifice they represent
Is understood by fewer and fewer.
Our time is fading in the sunset.
It won’t be long before
Memorial Day is left to those passing by.
Nobody here will remember why.
For now we march slowly.
We raise old rifles in a salute.
Taps plays, echoing forlornly
O’er the field of plaques and stone.
The crowds that join us each year
Shrink, but the respect is fresher
Than the faces gathered there.
Some children come,
Too young to understand,
But their thrill is the expended brass
They find at the ceremony’s end.
We stand by 6 crosses, mourning us as well.
Michael D. Mullins, 5/2/12