Memorial Day is right around the corner

[Tony Radford]

The Soldier
By Tony Radford

Long before, in times of war, an able-bodied male
would have no voice to make the choice, he’d serve or go to jail.

But times have changed, they’re not the same as those of yesteryear,
unlike before, to go to war one has to volunteer.

Their own free will, to die or kill, defend their flag with pride,
to sacrifice and not think twice, to take it all in stride.

Daughter, sons, they look so young, yet fearlessly they go,
and they’ll engage as battles rage, a terror few will know.

Everyday they’re in harm’s way, they tread on dangerous ground,
unwanted guests, explosive vests or a silent sniper’s round.

A barren land of rock and sand, they sit prepared to fight,
in holes they lay ‘till heat of day replaces chill of night.

They’ll not complain, they don’t seek fame, a mission to complete,
a wrong to right, a war to fight, a foe they must defeat.

The arms they bear, of high-tech fare, on land, in air and space,
they’ll take their toll by remote control, an assault without a face.

But in the towns where danger’s found, they’ll take it to the street,
with gun in hand, they make their stand, not knowing who they’ll meet.

Eye to eye, they’ll fight and die, civilians they’ll defend,
though fight they must, they’ll win the trust, not enemy, but friend.

They’ll not neglect a child or pet, the innocents so dear,
they’ll render aid, “don’t be afraid, you have no need to fear”.

Common views on the nightly news, returning troops enjoy
applause, the cheers and prideful tears, too soon they’ll redeploy.

They’re glad to see their family but always on their mind,
those out of site, still in the fight - the friends they left behind.

Some will claim a hero’s fame but we won’t hear them brag,
for they’ll return by way of urn or a box wrapped in a flag.

A solemn scene, a mother’s scream, a sight profoundly sad,
a wife will mourn, a child just born won’t get to meet its dad.

It just might be that those who feel the greatest loss of all,
were there that night to share the fight and saw their comrade fall.

The pain they feel will never heal, the soldier’s lifelong hell,
for every year they’ll shed a tear and toast the ones who fell.

While here at home, debates go on, their mission second-guessed,
agendas staged as war is waged, we sacrifice our best.

Some of those who live by prose have never had to fight.
They’ll pass a bill on Capitol Hill then home by Friday night.

The gift they’ll give to those who live, a life they can’t restart,
if valor’s shone with flesh and bone, perhaps a purple heart.

Some will stay in God’s embrace, the only prize they’ll claim,
a special day at the end of May and a cross that bears their name.

As long as man shall rule the land and choose to disagree,
the soldier’s call, to save us all and keep our nation free.

They’ll show no fear and volunteer, they know what they must do,
to fight and die with colors high, the red, the white and blue.