The Lark At Twilight Poem by Doug Stewart

The last I heard from Tommy,
He said he was doin’ O.K. He
Wrote his mom he was serving
In the Army of the U.S.A.

That was a handful of bloody
Wars back, mixing jungles and
Deserts and Eastern Europe
I guess he’s retired by now.

When we were kids we used
To hang on Tommy’s every
Word. In every single battle he
Led us all and we always

Won, whatever the tale he
Conjured. Plastic guns and
Stick bows, we emerged
Immortal every time. Hard

To think he’s in some aged
Retreat for ancient, dreaming
Warriors with no more hills to
Climb, no men to lead, no wars.

Still, I guess it’s better than
Retirement to a grave with a
Rifle and a bugle to mark your
Passage, alone and forgotten.

But I’ll remember those rough
And tumble skirmishes in the
Park, our post traumatic laughter
And the singing of the larks.