PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I carried three close comrades to the grave,  

During my twenty four years in the Army.  

I shook three pairs of  parent's hands.  

I carried one wife from the graveside.  



I patted the heads of the children,  

Who would never know their dad.

And I told all who would hear,  

Of the good lad we lost.  

  

In each grave I left a piece of myself.  

There isn't much left now,  

I've worn thin with time and other losses.  

But I thought I'd better say this before I'm done  



No distant cause is worthy of a single loss  

Let alone the number I read today,  

Wednesday the seventh of May,  

Four thousand and sixty one.