We are not gods, but men. We shed blood red and warm. We honor those gone before, and those who'll undoubtedly tread where we once tread. Gently the lips of the bugler, control each and every note. The music of the night to a weary soldier.
Taps signals the end of one more day, or the end of one more life.
Each day a life, in and of itself. Each day passing, as each life will, in time. Survive, living each day as a lifetime. Fill it as completely as you can. Desert sands, still linger in boots unworn.