The Soldier Poem by Barbara Marc

It became the briefest of time's span between when I brushed the
Little girl's cheek with my 'Post Office' kiss in the closet darkened
Next our living room's dimness with curtains brought down
And fresh and bright as we were at the age of five
And the crump of the bomb's outlandish crash taking from me
A measure of my life and a leg in the whirl of my vehicle's
Crazy flight on the field of War's mad little game and pain of that
Day was nothing to an instant's desire to offer it all up again for
A touch of my cheek once again in that moment of love.