Pray for the family of PFC Becker lost his life in Iraq
after ten months of his boots being on the ground. He would of been coming home soon.
....
I don't know what else to do.
19 years old. killed in action.
The sun did rise one ribbon at a time,
as birds sang a song of sorrow
with in the winter’s trees.
Their notes matching that of frail bugle,
that called upon our tears
one earth shattering drop at a time.
“Some heroes are only meant to be with us for so long,”
the angels in Heaven did cry.
Their snowflakes of gentle faith
gathering around us in our sorrowful place.
For you our hero befallen, for you we stand
in unearthly silence of remembrance.
Our enduring freedom your last gift to give.
So To the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost,
to those who know the ultimate sacrifice
this bugle does now cry with bitter tears of pride.
As 21 frail shots now fly leaving behind a whispering smoke
with a fragile smell of a battle now over.
A quite rest to a peaceful end, for your day in agony has been served.
So St. Peter thrust your gates wide open and allow this Soldier, Our Lost Hero
into your gentle grace of Angels, may Heaven rejoice in his presence
And may the Earth morn everlastingly.
after ten months of his boots being on the ground. He would of been coming home soon.
....
I don't know what else to do.
19 years old. killed in action.
The sun did rise one ribbon at a time,
as birds sang a song of sorrow
with in the winter’s trees.
Their notes matching that of frail bugle,
that called upon our tears
one earth shattering drop at a time.
“Some heroes are only meant to be with us for so long,”
the angels in Heaven did cry.
Their snowflakes of gentle faith
gathering around us in our sorrowful place.
For you our hero befallen, for you we stand
in unearthly silence of remembrance.
Our enduring freedom your last gift to give.
So To the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost,
to those who know the ultimate sacrifice
this bugle does now cry with bitter tears of pride.
As 21 frail shots now fly leaving behind a whispering smoke
with a fragile smell of a battle now over.
A quite rest to a peaceful end, for your day in agony has been served.
So St. Peter thrust your gates wide open and allow this Soldier, Our Lost Hero
into your gentle grace of Angels, may Heaven rejoice in his presence
And may the Earth morn everlastingly.
