Put Out More Flags

That day long ago in the wet winter's rain
On the grave's edge stood the dark coffin.
And, out of the crowd of mourners
Stiffly, stepped an old man in a faded suit,
Who slowly removed the flag
From the coffin and with reverence
And respect folded it up under his arm.
He was so old it seemed that ghosts of past heroes
Who had fought beside him, now attended him.
He disappeared into the crowd and was seen no more.

I read those words in a book;
Then putting the book down on the table,
Picked up my glass."Curse him",
I said, out loud though no one was there.
"Curse him, and all those flag-waving crowds
That glorify death and who have brought us here to this."