The Roman Soldier <br /> <br /> <br />It was late evening, when walking along the walls of <br />the ancient city of Chester, I saw him, the old centurion, <br />he stood alone dreaming of retirement, the land and <br />slaves he had been promised when he joined the army. <br />He and his kind was hated here, in his own beloved land <br />the almond tree stood in ornate regalia whishing spring <br />welcome by strewing a carpet of flowers on its path. <br /> <br />He didn’t see the two terrorists sneak up on him, when <br />he did it was too late, and slowed by age he was knifed <br />repeatedly. I think they must have sensed my presence, <br />looking my way they stopped, jumped over the parapet <br />and vanished. I held the centurion’s hands, he opened <br />his brown eyes, a brave little smile, and said: “Guess <br />I shan’t see the flowering of the almond tree this year.”<br /><br />jan oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-roman-soldier/
