Some nights are never-ending hells <br />for these old veterans in our care. <br />We do not hand out pills, but shells, <br />as out of battlefields they stare <br />from over sixty years ago <br />on far-off Guam or Guadalcanal. <br />With trembling hands they try to show <br />how the bravest or youngest fell. <br />We console them with a cold cup, <br />and a tender tap on the shoulder. <br />What haunts them, though, will not give up, <br />nor the fallen boys grow older.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/veterans-hospital/
