The morning sun

Ignites the hills

And pushes night

Across the rills.

It fills the Gullies

With Rivers gold

And glazes mountains

Sheer and cold.

It calls the birds

To daybreak’s song

Or ends the Northland’s

Night, so long.

It takes Night’s forest

Off to sleep

And brings forth Day’s

From slumber deep.

And raises once more

Duty’s Call

For Men, Green-clad

To give their all.

And if, one morn’

They gather there

Their faces worn and

Lined with care,

And I’m not there

To answer Roll,

I’m 10-8;

On my Last Patrol.

©Warren Blair 9/26/04