He crouched in tears, clutching letters closely. <br /> <br />Head bent, his bulk reduced by weariness. <br />the weeping spelt relief. <br /> <br />A letter was the most he hoped to see of home. <br /> <br />War still seethed, and as noisy hell held sway, <br />heavy shell sounds bounced around in rote. <br /> <br />He daily faced lines of foe full knowing fear. <br /> <br />Yet he had found that taste of home <br />too much, and wept. <br /> <br />The sign of weakness gone, helmet on, <br />he sped away. <br /> <br />We will never know his inner state, but we still <br />see the image of this soldier's face. <br /> <br />We need to urge our prayers for any war <br />to cease, utterly.<br /><br />Fay Slimm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/war-worn/
