The woodsman

Peering in to the forest,dark then clearing,appears a horseman riding
bringing tidings of a battle won,
fought on some foreign field
and bought by death under a foreign sun.
There is no rejoicing here,no celebration,we wait to hear news from some distant shore,for we are parents of the sons who won the war,and what for we ask?
to bask in everlasting glory?

Bring me back my dead,rebuild for me another story of no war,no battles fought,no victory was ever bought without the shedding of our blood.
Good men die or live and we who gave them life,the father,wife wait to hear,
wait and fear
the knocking at our door.


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