I recently wrote this brief poem after visiting a very old and ill man at NHC Healthcare in Glasgow.
Down the lonely hall is the sick and struggling man.
I seek to place some final comfort in the stranger’s hand.
With pictures of his battleship prominently on the wall,
I learned the gentle soul was an old warrior, after all.
Downcast I addressed him, humble in my stance,
confessing I had never gone to fight in foreign lands.
Then blushed with sincerity, precise with his aim,
he comforted me that there was no reason for my shame.
He fought against injustice, he fought tyranny.
Now he fights the devils whispering defeat to me.
So quick! Rush to his flank! Clutch his hand today!
Because another old warrior is about to fade away.
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