When victory’s loud, trump doth sound for Thee,
and many in triumph, lift their joyful eyes;
pray that with this Reset, let us not be
deaf to the anguish of our loved ones’ sighs.
Their losses cut a heavy, grievous toll,
paid in the coin of sorrow, hard to hold.
Mark, dear cohorts, so with a gentle hand
soothe their hearts, may in our care they stand.
(The Random Poet:02222025
therandompoet.com)
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