Once you had glory, now you bang your drum,
And march through Mexico in sandaled feet.
You do not think about the hell to come -
The end of drumming down these dusty streets.
Then, with Juarez, you fought against the French-
A thousand years of war experience
Against some peasants in an unmarked trench -
To cleanse your land of foreign influence.
Now your name is forgotten, though your deeds
Live on. What though with patriots you lie
In lonely graves with flowers strewn? The seeds
Of unborn soldiers take your place to die.
Thus it has always been, and so will be
Until each man, in his own way, is free.
Sonnet based on Frederick Remington’s
“Drum Corps, Mexican Army”
Published in Autumn Sky Poetry Art Issue, October, 2009