I hear solemnly on the morning news <br />Of another too soon tragedy over sea. <br />I turn the pages of the newspaper <br />And find a self portrait staring back at me. <br /> <br />Your hands are my hands. <br />Your eyes are my eyes. <br />But it is your blood on foreign sands, <br />Only your mother mourns and cries. <br /> <br />Your motivation and determination, <br />It’s so much like my own. <br />But to you there’s added bravery; <br />I just stayed at home. <br /> <br />I want to envy you for the <br />Great thing that you’ve done. <br />I lack you courageousness; <br />I stayed home and had fun. <br /> <br />One breath of your life <br />Is worth a dozen of mine. <br />Next to you my spirit’s bland, <br />It lacks your exuberant shine. <br /> <br />There are just too many of you. <br />It seems like a new one each day. <br />I wish I could say we cry for you, <br />But it’s just a rainy day in May.<br /><br />Frederick Francis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-man-on-page-three/
