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We Won , Did We ?
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Drunken Thoughts
Amongst the gaily colored crowd.
Stood the old man.
Proudly holding his little flag.
Pallor less he stood in the tan great coat
He cocked his head at the beat of the drum
And while his shoulders rolled in time to the cadence
His rheumy red rimmed eyes, slowly filled with tears
No longer old now, nor standing alone
His chin held high, Chest Square and his shoulders back
Quietly standing as the ranks of the dead swelled around him.
He remembered when forty years or so,
He’d marched at head of a parade like this.
The flowers that had been thrown,
The pretty young maiden and her kiss.
The cheers of the throng.
The jubilation and the beers.
Time, like the army though marches on.
Soon these fresh faced young men,
Would be just like him.
Old and forgotten.
For get not the dead,
Nor their deeds.
The sacrifice that was not in vain.
Remember through the living.
I’m too old now, to go again.
Next time it may be your turn.
And although I went by choice.
I want not my efforts wasted.
Violence solves nothing,
You have a vote, you have a voice.
