Colin F. Jones


Well as a soldier might, I thirst for war,
And drinking it perhaps do thirst for more,
That being thus drunk love what I should deplore
And later suffer from all that I adore.
I am made lame by all the skills I gain,
The highs acquired reaching out for pain,
For I a crippled hunter can’t retain,
That which I throw away in bitter shame.
What is the truth, that God will save my soul,
If I do cringe and beg as would a fool,
Or is it that I’m proud of what I am,
A soldier and a mortal living man.
Be proud my brothers for all the deeds you’ve done,
And we’ll face together whatever fate doth come.