Jungle Tears Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She ran across the plaza, nearly flying.
He was alive, though barely, badly swaying.
Presumed deceased, their group of just fifteen
had made their way out of the steaming jungle.
Her nurse's cap had fallen into muck,
and regulation army blouse spit down the centre.
His eyes were swollen badly, though this was a sight
to heal and comfort them and warm a frozen heart.
It was the end of fighting in this violent film.
Good guys had won with heavy casualties.
And here I sit in Lazyboy's recliner
and try to hide the tear no one should see.