A Sonnet for Marching


I always knew at last this time would come

When lost is that from which my love derives.

No longer shall I hear the horn and drum

Which waving hand to quickest tempo drives. 

My heart as well would beat in Presto time,

My countenance concealing this from view

For never should the public hear the chime

Of thrill whithin my chest at heaven's cue

But now, my years elapsed, I too am deaf

To that which I've heard ring so clear and bright.

Of exultation I am now bereft.

From autumn dreams I carefully alight.

Though small the portion of my life you took,

So often on you shall I fondly look.


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