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In War

In dank, smelly mud I sat
A broken head upon my lap,
Red-blackened blood trickling
From a straight nose now broken;
From a mouth twisted and joined
Among other small holes
That had ripped soft flesh
From a youthful face
Swollen eyes then spoke to me.
"You'll be O.K.," I answered.
His smile was gentle like,
As war-aged eyes once again
Reached out and touched my soul.
"It doesn't hurt anymore,"
"Well, hardly at all," he lied.
Eyes meeting again, I swallowed,
Then spit out dirt and blood
That I knew was never mine!
"Don't hurt at all," he again said,
With a belying faint smile
From his war-ravaged bed.
"I'll make it for sure..."
"Of course! For sure," I then lied.
"I'm cold," he confided to me;
"Just a while longer," I replied.
Then those tired eyes did close
As my hand he gently squeezed.
"You just rest now," to him I said,
And it was then
That I knew
He was dead.


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used by permission
Copyright H.J. Gaudreau
All Rights Reserved 

Background music 
~ "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" ~
performed by Hector John Gaudreau. 
Please visit his web site
 Fireside melodies for Lovers