Alan L. Winters
Awarded: June 5, 2007It must be early morning;
Forgetting where I was
And where I had to be
As I sit and stir my coffee.
It must be cold by now
But I guess it doesn’t matter anyhow.
The chink of spoon and cup
Are blades of choppers in the night
Filled with men who lost the fight.
So young we were back then,
So fast we aged it seems.
Forgetting for a time our goals
And for a time our childhood dreams.
We learned to live in points of time.
We survived the past,
And lived the present,
And only hoped for more to come.
But time stood still too soon for some.
There we spent our days and nights
In constant fear of firefights –
Too young to vote but not to die;
Afraid to laugh, afraid to cry.
©Copyright by Alan L. Winters (Date Unknown)