You did not like to talk about the war,
But I could see the anguish in your eyes,
The reflex of your hand touching a scar.
How many times must one apologize?
I sensed a question coming, not to ask.
Though quietly, the answer carved your brow.
You carried on, through all these years, somehow,
With a strong purpose that you took to task.
But sorrow hidden in the depth of you,
Helped forge your kindness and humanity.
Alone, you return to that distant view,
Where no medal will ever set you free.
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