His Last Request
The crimson sun was slowly settling in the west.
A soldier lay on the battlefield nearing the end of life's quest.
Left to die a lonely death upon the recent field of strife,
Thoughts of home consumed him as he approached eternal life.
A padre was searching across that sacred, ravaged ground,
To see if a breath of life among the fallen could be found.
He heard a faint whisper, "Padre, come, talk with me, hold my hand,
Ere I am borne by the angels toward that golden strand!"
The padre held the Yankee's hand and clasped him to his breast.
"You did your best - God will crown you with a regal crest.
Take comfort knowing your sacrifice will not have been in vain.
Because of you, this nation will be united in brotherhood again!"
"The slain man lying next to me is also my mother's son.
Oh, padre, will God forgive me for the awful deed I've done?
I chose to struggle for the North, his allegiance was to the South.
Brother, I love and forgive you, were the last words from his mouth!"
"God understands and will forgive, fear you not, my son.
In the heat of battle, deeds occur that cannot be undone."
"Thank you, padre. Please read to me the Twenty-third Psalm,
That I may begin my eternal journey with reassuring calm."
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
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