Lisa I. Hilbers
He stands proudly and defends the gate,
To protect our Freedoms, from ill fate.
His feet are tired, by the end of the night;
Those old boots have a mean bite.
He crawls through mud, and ice cold rain,
Enemy razor wire, slices with pain.
He’ll sleep in a foxhole, a readied grave,
While the American Flag, steadily waves.
In a moment of silence between the bombs and shells,
A soldier’s mind goes home, only to return to a living hell.
Thanksgiving comes, there’s spam in a can;
A card from his girl brings smiles to this man.
For just a moment, he gets a scent of her smell,
A perfume laced paper, tells the tale.
The hint of a smile, as he remembers when,
Comes across his face… but then…
Reality brings back, the explosion of shells,
And the buddy next to him has fatally fell.
Christmas Eve approaches, where’s the time gone?
Another can of cold spam, no cheerful songs.
The only voice he hears is the yelling of his C.O.,
Stay down! I need live soldiers, not dead heroes!
As he steps off that plane, all dressed in green,
You’ll be able to look in his eyes, and know where he’s been.
Shake his hand, and show him you care,
For without this brave American Soldier, we’d be nowhere.
©Copyright 2002 by Lisa I. Hilbers