Posted by H. Gregory Wold on April 5, 2005:

MOURNING MIST Cold wind blows down the valley. Fog rolls over the hills. Sing the song of the bugle, The mournful call of old. Flags fly lowered in the gray. Damp cold chills the assembled. Stand tall and proudly remember The joyful call of youth. Ice flows in the black river. Cold silence shrouds the Plain. Recall that promise of life, The boundless vision of June. Children strain in the stone yard. Quiet commands are spoken. Call up the salute of thunder, The timeless honor deserved. The Long Line is a presence. The chill of their gain takes hold. Fold the flag of our country, The cloak of service he wore. Cold wind blows down the valley. Fog rolls over the hills. Sing the song of the bugle, The mournful call of old. *** Written upon the funeral of Vincent J. Esposito, Jr., USMA '56 We called him Mike, my roommate. January 31, 1992 at West Point, New York H.G. Wold USMA '56 Feb. 14, 1992

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