As the sun rises over these pyramids,
Does it warm the fourteen hundred below
And rouse them from their collective sleep?
Crowded there, do some still swap tales of the Seminole
And debate the merits of their cause?
Do some bow their heads in prayer? Do some weep?
There is a brief moment, just as the sun rises above the houses across Marine Street and mixes with the last of night’s shadows, that the grave markers in the St. Augustine National Cemetery display their age before donning their regulation white.
How is it that a sub lieutenant of the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve rests for eternity in this national cemetery of ours? And, who is it that still comes here to leave a stone of remembrance and respect? And, why is it that this story I will never know has touched my soul so?