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A little man with a plastic sword,
Nearly as big as he;
Is he a soldier fighting a war,
With enemies no one can see?

What dreams go on in that little head,
In what book may I read the tale,
Of dragons and serpents and battles and lords,
Of warriors hearty and hale?

A middle-aged man with a loaded Glock,
Ugly and deadly, though small;
The enemy fires -- he hears the blast --
He watches his comrade fall.

What thoughts fly 'round in that tired mind,
So weary, wounded and worn?
Does he still know the reason he fights this war?
Does he yet understand why he's torn?

An old man with a wooden cane,
Gnarled and knotted and bent,
Could this be the soldier who fought in that war,
Now wrinkled and weak and spent?

What stories lie in that white-crowned head,
Behind those clouded eyes?
Will anyone hear those memories told,
Before this soldier dies?

-Oladon, 4-20-2007