Our Soldiers’ Muffled Cries

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I send my handstroke heavenward with a vibrant joyful sound,
But my backstroke sounds not the same,
As the bells are coming round.

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I send my handstroke heavenward with the hope of humankind ,
But my backstroke sounds not the same,
As the tenor rings behind.

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I send my handstroke heavenward with a strike that’s good and strong,
But my backstroke sounds not the same,
Leading right or wrong.

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I send my handstroke heavenward with care both deep and warm,
But my backstroke sounds not the same,
On this November morn.

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This backstroke comes from heavens halls,
Our soldiers’ muffled cries,
Answering once more our earthly calls,
As our ring down dies.
©Keith Murphy