Persian Quatrains Of A Comrade-In-Arms - Poem by Gert Strydom
These oak trees grew before we were born,
we used to climb them in another dawn
but I miss those youthful military days
when time was young in a youthful morn.
On parade I saw you proudly stand
ramrod straight saluting with an extended hand,
in the entire world, to me you were
brave far beyond your years, a true hero of this land.
In all my life I never saw such loyalty,
to a country where we wanted everyone to be free,
but politicians true to their core opened Pandora’s box
and nothing turned out as it could be.
Happiness, sorrow and utter joy came and again went,
in pristine uniforms we were proud and content
and for each other we did care
but on a secret mission your life was spent.
Sometimes it’s as if you are standing at the door,
with your kitbag lying on the floor
but life only returns with the reality
that you are dead and will be with me no more.
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