Nancy L. Meek
He hid behind a spindly tree
then hoped I wouldn’t see;
but, there he was… within my sight,
and there he’ll always be;
as nights draw softly to a close
and I, again, return,
to where, my God in heaven knows,
my eyes will always burn
the day I shot that dark-haired lad
crouched down behind a tree,
believing that the gun he had
was real… and meant for me.
I’ve held it in these many years,
afraid to set it free,
afraid that if they saw the tears,
they’d never let me be;
since men don’t cry, all war is hell
and the innocent get shot.
Too bad, because I might get well
and condemn the bloody lot.
©Copyright November 29, 2009 by Nancy L. Meek