A Soldiers Flight

Below the trees the cold wind roars, the young soldier is ready for the fight, the screaming bird on its final flight of war.

He always departs from right to left, protecting his boys like his only begotten sons, fire in the night, OH MY GOD, were the only ones.

Paradise alley is heaven sent, bright red tracers his only defense, his aching body acts as sculpting clay, his fearful mind racing to save the day.

All back home safe and sound, truly a miracle for these old hounds.Looking for a parade for these toy soldiers, it can never come, our fight is a secret one.

God, Country and our Mothers milk, we protect the flag woven from purest silk.

All said and done is a pat on the back, never a medal or even sheppards pie, know that your Country loves you boy, the children never cry.

When the paper drill winds its eerie blade, you must leave now from your youthful tirade.Thanks for making a man from a long lost boy, can I take my medals now and live a life without regret, a life of joy?

A Soldiers Flight can never land, only fond memories of a dark green Sandman.

by Doug Morrow

Other poems of MORROW (3)

Comments (5)

an eternal image of astounding beauty, thanks to Ezra
beautifully written...astonishing :)
There is a spelling error in the 2nd line. It should read of lily-of-the-valley.
Thank you, Mr. Hager. I almost missed this one. On second reading I thought of Georgia O'Keefe and her flowers. And BTW, your recommendation for the River Merchant's Wife was also much appreciated.
First and briefest of three Pound poems entitled 'Alba, ' this is a lovely example of Imagism. The text above contains a typo and should be spread out like this: As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She laid beside me in the dawn