This poem is based on personal experience in Vietnam. Sometimes, in war, there is simply nowhere to hide This desperation before death is worse than death itself. Death is the relief.
In violent fields, No eye is on the sparrow. It flits amidst the rage Of sling and arrow. And though to it No refuge calls, still, It beats its wing Until to earth, it falls A breathless thing. How frail a thread Holds hope above The fray. Too soon It yields to weight Of mortal wound. And sparrows lie In fields Like buds That never bloom.
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