The Last Battle
THE LAST BATTLE
In a huddled lump, old soldier on Front Street,
But the hurrying winter crowds never even see him
As they stop for hot dogs in the snow on a child’s whim.
An army of people pass but no one wants to meet
The salute in his eyes; and he greets only feet
As he pulls his old medal tunic around his one limb
In a huddled lump.
Long months since his last time to eat meat
Or fill his battered metal cup to the rim.
Clutching his sheet as his battle memories dim,
He finally falls in defeat fom the hail of sleet -
In a huddled lump.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck on 21 July 2012
Entered in Nette Onclaud's Contest RONDINE - THE TRAFFIC OF LIFE
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