by Dave Franklin

Created on: April 29, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Veterans

Though he may walk with crooked stick,
And talk with bitter tone,
I know his actions aren't as quick,
as those that he has known.

His hip is worn, his legs are frail,
He gaits with stooping back,
And yet he lived to tell the tale,
Although his teeth are black.

His mind is clouded from a war,
He fought to make us free,
And from his heart he gave much more,
Than we could ever see.

My grandfather's a veteran,
He served his country best,
And proudly wears his medals,
On a bar upon his chest.

As soldiers do, so quietly,
Without complaint for losses,
He thinks of those within the tombs,
Unmarked, with wooden crosses.

The friends he left behind in war,
He wears those stars in pride,
Of all those soldiers passed before,
That stay so real inside.

Learn more about this author, Dave Franklin.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.