WAYFARING STRANGERS The
frost sparkled upon the steel bridge rails; Clattering
trains overhead, steam whistles wail. While
deep in the shadows beneath the concrete forms Men
live in cardboard boxes trying to keep warm. The
snow is falling, a hard chill in the air. Coffee
is brewing - the aroma drifts through the air. A
fire in the open, they gather round the flames; Their
own country has forgotten their names Christmas
is nearing, city full of bright lights. Red
and green colors bring back memories all right; But
not of joy, nor peace on this earth, Nor
of the Christ child, nor the night of His birth. Red
flares of a hot zone, green flares safe to land; The
bright lights of tracers ripping the bodies of man. Their
sleigh was a chopper, no reindeer in sight; Rags
held them together 'til the end of their flight. No
one sang carols, No
one rang bells, No
presents to unwrap, No
sweet stories to tell. Their
solitary gift, To
fight another day; Santa
never showed up, It
was out of his way. The
crackling of the fire brings their thoughts back home as
they sip their coffee outside their cardboard homes. Soon
they will sleep beneath today's front-page news. To
some they have disappeared without trace or a clue. There's
a purple heart pinned to an old veteran's chest; On
another a Silver Star holds closed a ragged torn vest. Behold,
there's a bronze star on the old soldiers coat, One
hand grips a bottle, the other a suicide note. Purple
and Silver and Bronze 'neath the bridge; Survivors
of Khe Sahn and of Heart Break Ridge. The
bright lights of the city and all the brightly lit trees Pale
by comparison to decorated men such as these. So
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! Think
about our Brothers who are still in the fight. They
live in the shadows of the honor they deserve; Denied
rights by a government they fought to preserve. Richard
D. Preston ©December 5, 2000
|
“I
wonder if their vote counted this election”