by Bob Chaney

Created on: February 14, 2009

SUMMER'S DUSK

Madame, I met your son at daybreak, the middle of July,
In a year much like the recent past, filled with tears and cries.
How he knew my footstep, to call my name so strong
Brought me to his bedside, where I knelt the whole day long
To listen to his wisdom, to hold his hand in prayer;
None seemed more important than your son, the soldier fair.
Though his sense of loss was great, in all that was denied him,

Suspended in this time of hate, his hope marched on untempered.
He did not speak of glory, or honor or the flag.
He did not dwell on hatred, he spoke not of regrets.
He spoke to me of life, there among the dying;
His vision taped and bandaged, continued on undaunted.
He spoke of home, its times and seasons;
Spring mornings, summer nights, fall days and winter evenings.
The sounds and smells of each, assaulted all his senses,
Even as our common fate appeared and touched on mine.
I'd tell you he died bravely, a hero to his peers;
I wish that I could have the words, to help you staunch the tears.
His thoughts of you were filled with love, your memory had not paled;
He held to faith in God and man, this boy of eighteen years.
And those without his fortune, will be old before their time;
Their youthful innocence sacrificed on the battlefield of brothers.
At sunset bright, his race was done, The colors struck half mast,
Stars and stripes and bars together with his passing breath.
I know I too have lost a son. Your humble servant, Abraham.

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