Bled Blood Red Poem by Ron Pate

-Bugles sound charge and the drum plays, as pillows of white smoke unfolded while soldiers marched forward that early day. Rank and file were soon to fall, covered in
a blanket of blood red.

-As a great wall of smoke slowly faded, a sanguine river appeared. Casualties crying out and the deceased lay silent where they fell within it's current. They bled blood red.

- Bugles sound retreat as a morning sun set reluctantly at midday. Horse and caisson set way into drenched fields removing the injured and interring the dead in shallow grave. Night falls as nearby barns are filled with soldiers who bled blood red.

-Fields were empty as the early morning twilight hesitantly evaporated. A cold chill ran down their spines as the bugle sounded, while drums played and so the battle began. Father, son and brother alike all bled blood red.

-From the first battle cry to the present, soldiers fought for freedom and bled blood red, as they shall today, so none of yours be shed.

-As we reflect back this Memorial Day, from the heavens to the earth let the honored saber rattling parade pay tribute to the fallen and the ones standing ready for the bugle to sound and drums to play once again.