Remembrance Day Poem by Martin Ward

Remembrance Day

He could have killed me,
but he hesitated
before I shot him.
He was little more
than a boy, and I
was not much more.
He looked into my eyes
as the shot rang out,
then his eyes distanced
as life left him.
When the soldier slumped
to the ground,
his wallet spilled
and a photograph
of his Mother
looked up at me.

Each time I look
into my children's eyes
I see him.
My grandchildren
once asked me
about the war:
for a school project.
I told them I was old
and could no longer remember.
I did not tell them
that I had killed a man.
My medals are kept
in a drawer.