The Guardian Who Fell

Affixed to her lapels were the world.

Her Eagle, Globe and Anchor signs shone.

Her regulation hair curled.

She was one of America’s own.

Her captain made sure

That the stray fabrics vanished.

There remained a cure

For the cloth that she banished.

The lost was like the guardian who fell.

Though her casket would be closed,

This woman warrior could still tell.

Her morality continued to be exposed.

A single silver bar sat on her shoulders.

Fingerprints would be extinguished.

As the fire of the fight still smolders

The uniform made her distinguished.

Her captain ensured that every piece

Looked like a crystal. She made it clear

That her effort would not cease.

The tiniest buttons would still appear.

The dress blue alphas had been pressed.

The Sam Browne belt and blood stripe

And the medals placed on her chest

Made a tear in the captain’s eye ripe.

She did not bawl or cry, though.

The tiny liquid jewel just streaked

Her face and she brushed it low.

Her memories from the battle piqued.

She did not show an outburst.

The lieutenant’s silence was calm.

The captain thought of little details first.

Combing the fallen’s hair was a balm.