When less than a man before honor is born,
When dreams chase fulfillment beyond promising scorn;
And a young man's thoughts are yet to be words,
Then is when honor first whispers its urge.
It is valor, it is virtue;
It is noble and True.
Yet in the promise of youth and the blossom inferred,
'Tis indeed but a future and the honor, deferred.
Is a man now a man when to war he must go?
On the line lays his valor and new courage to show.
In the heat of the fire, when the heroic is blind,
And bullets sing the death knells of others in line.
Hot is the life that burns in the breast
For another young man has stood in the test.
Yet in the promise of youth and the blossom inferred,
'Tis indeed but a future and the honor, deferred.
Now the battle is over and a hero er' one,
From the lowest of privates, to a mother's young son.
But where is the honor, and where is the cast?
And what gold can atone for the shrine of the past?
Look quick, it is there!
Yea, look hard, it's just: air.
And the promise of youth and the blossom inferred,
'Tis indeed but a future and the honor's deferred.
So a family is bought at the price of a war,
And hope rides the heart of a man with a score.
With a woman as wife, two sons and a girl,
Not long will it be till his colors unfurl.
In the breast lies dormant a man's greatest dream,
Of the Greek's "arete" to be born in the stream.
Yet in the promise of youth and the blossom inferred,
'Tis indeed but a future and the honor, deferred.
But no war is as large as the one now entered,
No ground yet gained but so grudgingly rendered.
While honor waits patient in a son's heart to view,
A father despairs its visit, a back: his solid clue.
There's a tear, in the heart;
Don't reveal, don't even start.
Alas, the eroding of youth and the blossom interred,
There seems no future and the honor, still: deferred.
With the years gone behind us, is a father's lost hope,
Of a son ever bearing honor guard: no, a sand rope.
But low, the step quickens, like a river's set roll,
Like the rise of a flag on a Pacific atoll.
Though never on Tulagi, or where Raiders fought swift,
In a son wakes the honor for a father's life gift.
And from the promise of youth and the flower inferred,
Comes a future now present, and the honor: conferred!
What thing is this honor, 'twas so long to confer,
Can't be bought or commanded, but must naturally stir.
As in the Sun is now perfect, His glory to shine,
To honor the Father, of Lights His design.
Now, a Son waits in patience, for a sign, for a token,
From His children, His lifeblood, yet nothing is spoken.
Alas, there's a tear! At the Cross,
He paid dear, on our battlefield: here!
And, in the promise of youth and the Blossom inferred,
'Tis indeed but a future and the honor, deferred.