Veterans Day by Roy E. Peterson It matters not where wars are fought, What matters is what blood has bought. It matters not where weapons thrust. What matters is that it is just. It matters not where be the foe. What matters is the heart to go. These men had hopes for higher things, For future fame, for wedding rings. They lived and breathed like everyone, Yet stayed to fight till victory’s won. They gave their all like brave men will. They fought the fight that goes on still. Not all returned for some all gave, And lie unmarked in foreign grave. They may be missing in the war, But they are all accounted for: In that great roll call they will stay, And stand with us on Veterans Day. Roy E. Peterson is a writer and former U.S. military army intelligence officer who currently resides in Texas. Glory Glimpsed by T.M. Moore I glimpsed it high above—the bright white head, gold beak, and strong, majestic wings outspread— as, gliding effortlessly on a breeze, it soared beyond a distant stand of trees, and then was gone. A patriotic rush coursed through my soul, reducing to a hush all outward sounds, and lighting up my mind with images of former days, the kind I might have come across in some old grade school book, or seen held high in a parade, or on the presidential seal—the threat of war, the hope of peace, the visage set in strength and pride, resolved for freedom. I heard all those rousing marches, saw the sky lit up with fireworks and that tattered flag still flying, knowing that there’s never brag nor boast among this humble people. And I thanked God for this very special land and all her people and achievements. As the eagle disappeared, I wondered, “Has our glory likewise faded? Was it ever more than a wish or hope, and will we never attain the greatness represented by that soaring bird, there high up in the sky?” But, in the long run, does it matter? Should we care? Or are such noble longings good enough, though not quite real? So shall we drift off history’s pages, lacking any Lift to let us soar? And must the nation’s story be just one disappearing glimpse of glory? T.M. Moore’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals, and he has published five volumes of verse through his ministry’s imprint, Waxed Tablet Publications. He is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe. He and his wife, Susie, reside in Essex Junction, VT.