Most often than not,
Heroes do fade with their names unsung.
But the shadows of their past,
And the candles we light all night,
Can at least serve as lyrics,
To compose for their departed souls,
A new song for us to be consoled.
Patriots they’re now called,
As dirty politics has now stalled.
For once at most,
We all agree to a toast,
In solemnity and not at the bar,
That this life is by far,
An expedition with a divine illusion.
Yes indeed they were;
Heroes as we now call them.
Not because it sounds like an anthem,
But for the national emblem,
They did responsibly revere.
Was it the natural order?
Is it because someone failed to bother?
Was it their time?
Are the questions we continue to mime.
But will the answer save us a dime,
As a nation in her own prime?
Let the eight angels fly high,
As families make a thirst quenching sigh,
And create for them a legacy in perpetuity.
For if we seek another opportunity,
And let these men go forgotten,
There shall be no more fallen angles from heaven.
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