Soldiers, I thank you
Dear Editor:the breath of a roomresonance of a hallgenerations silenced, before to call.gracious gates of the war-torn horses,drawn to head at the foot of a corpse – to die – we die.soldiers of a foreign land,want not for the love of ours – so we no longer want – to be torn.justify your justifiables, of this, you mustfor eyes wander for that lust,but in doing, profess, both sides,their mere guilt or innocence.the spark of a lock,the shudder of a blast -need but the action – more so – only.Our protectors are here – now – againfor the sake, and might, these greatsprotect the mind of a simple right landin doing, souls may be saved -and some may die -but it is for us they live and dieso fear not to cry, or disguisethe pride of living in this land,of Uncle Sam. Thompson A. BishopAspen
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