Although his war has long been done

Rifles chatter, and mortars fire,

Nightly battles are still lost and won,

Men lie dying in blood streaked mire.

Closed ears useless against the cries,

He sees it, clear as morning light,

A buddy writhes in his mind, and dies...

Skirmishes fought behind eyes closed tight.

It all drifts away with the coming of dawn,

But there's one last battle yet to be won;

He rises, determined to carry on,

Although his war has long been done. 

© 6/9/2008 Thurman P. Woodfork