He'd walked a thousand miles,
shot in the back near Petersburg,
and brought the Russian bullet home.
His path led by the doctor's home
he would not stop as finer things
awaited at her castle, near the church.
With borrowed strength fell in the door
and 'home at last' rolled of his lips,
frostbitten ears took in the sound
and all the meaning of it, before he did,
another warrior had arrived before
and Welcome was reserved for only one.
He did not worry that the bullet caused,
in just three days a poisoned blood
and gangrenous disintegration.
The stash of hidden bottles had remained,
unfound and unappreciated until today.
Surrounded by a dozen empty ones
they found him with the happy smile
he had reserved and carried through
the steppes on his journey, for her.
The preacher said that stress of war
and what the soldiers saw out in
the battlefield, was often way too much.
But he remained quite still and kept his smile.
You can feel the pain and even joy in this poem Herbert....you did a wonderful job! ! ! !
This kind of poem is your best, Herbert. Let's have more of these. Raynette
A wonderful piece on a topic personally dear. You are on a roll!
It's strange that we can go through battles and come out smiling; we can go through distress of the heart and can't even cut a slice of bread right. Linda
A wonderful account of this soldier, Herbert. You allow the reader to feel your words. Hugs to you, CJ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is almost 'painful' Herbert. very touching. Great poem.