by Cpl. Robert L. Cook
Jan. 42~Sept. 45
A bugle is a simple thing,
Not much for looks or class.
Until you hear it proudly sing
Of morning colors shining bright
Against the blue sky after night
Has faded with the dawn.
From its place across the field
It speaks to us below,
To tell us of the things to do
And places we should go.
It sounds alarms, if need be,
Or just to come to chow.
And payday and assembly
Of when or where or how.
Its clarion voice
When sounding "Charge!"
Across the battlefield
Sends out a call
To one and all,
"Go forth and do not yield!"
Of all the calls that it doth do
Throughout the livelong day.
'Tis "Taps" that
Brings me close to God,
And finishes my day.
*
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**About the author: Robert Cook served with Reg. Weapons Co.(2d-2d) from 1942~44, at Guadalcanal & Tarawa, during a 33-month overseas tour.
