The trumpets sound

 

The trumpets sound

The trumpets sound -

chordant brass in respectful air

and the day breaks in two.

What is gone is gone.

Matriarch to Patriarch,

the baton is passed

a novelty, bright liveried

in centuried tradition.

 

The trumpets sound -

scarlet tunics, bright buttoned,

dispose their guns,

dispose their bearskins

in mass singularity.

Bareheaded they pronounce

'the King'

in hurrah chorus

with a chorus peopling yard and environs.

And in towns and villages

in cities and countries

church bells

in unity

ring out their

proclamation

in sad celebration.