My Friend the Warrior
A warrior I say he was. No self-pity, sorrow, or regret. Few complaints if any; no quit. In illness, his reach yet prevailed. Duty called, to serve was his command.
A warrior I say he was. One attack after another upon his body. Several years before his demise, I was amazed when he revealed to me, "Four strokes I've had", he said to me.
A warrior I say he was. He clearly demanded every moment of time. Precious moments, none to waste, opened eyes. I held his hand,
rubbed his head and said, "I love you". He simply lay there
listening without a sound in reply.
A warrior I say he was. I sat with a friend at his dying bedside. There was no pain, just comfort, and love. For a while, he simply refused to close his eyes. Those same eyes that spotted me 25 years ago. I felt his heart, and he seemed so calm and serene. That same heart had reached out to me 25 years ago.
07132018cjPSFB Written and inspired by the life of a friend.
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