"sonnet63"
the wolf at night still howls to him
a soldier's death is quick to dim,
what's left behind in shadow weighed
a breath to soul entwined with jade,
one heart is split so one may beat
a pool of blood not quite so neat,
he lies upon the logs to fire
his path they do always enquire.
`twas not the medals in a drawer
or uniforms once worn in war,
a will of steel, mind razor sharp
the ring of calm that left its mark.
he did not talk the talk some spew
but led with honour that shone true.
for Sahib
©'t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
4feb14
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