In The Heat Of Battle Poem by Robert Stoddard

In the heat of battle, a soldier falls.
Yet only the medic will follow his calls.
The rest are distracted by the “battle at hand”,
but Corpsmen, he cares even in the desert’s sand.
He’ll follow the calls of those who weep,
paying little heed to those enemies afar.
He loves that soldier of whom I speak.
Upon all judgments, he’s placed a bar.

I can be the grunt that follows the fight.
I could be the enemy who causes the pain.
What if, for a moment, I chose the right?
Would I become a savior? Could I lessen your pain?

Will I be affected when my friends fall?
In persecution, will I follow their call?
Will I be their healer in the desert’s sand,
or just concentrate on my own “battle at hand”?
Am I willing to be there as they weep,
to suffer from lies that set them afar?
Will I love all those of whom I speak?
Upon every judgment, can I place a bar?