|
Gather up your poems and tales
of your own battles and I will read
if I must; but, after the sun pales
and you're asleep with no need
in your eyes to search for tears
in mine; for I must appear strong,
your shoulder through the years
when the boy in you weeps long,
war torn, mourning for your youth.
Yes, after you've gone, I will read
all you've learned from war's truth
and once more my heart will bleed
like when our palms met that day
and you swore to me, "I'll be okay." |
