The Veteran (In rememberance of the sacrifices)
On a cold but starless night
braced against the chill damp air,
Lay an old man, without sight,
a hungry beggar, in despair.
In tattered coat, his bony frame
leaned 'gainst a twisted tree,
He pondered all the loss and pain
that had been his destiny.
With weathered brow in stiff gnarled
hands, he hung his silvered head,
And prayed to God to loose his bands,
his suffering, he might shed.
In the shoeless feet wrapped up in rags, to keep them from the cold,
And silver chain with two dog-tags,
the story of a life was told.
With the memory of a young man, bold,
and a moment filled with pride,
Eyes closed against a world so cold,
that night, the old man died.
Joan Meadowlark Stanton, copyright 1984