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 He's a soldier


No legs, no eyes and yet he sees,

Beyond the gruelling battlefield,

He'll crawl and drag himself between,

The blood, the guns, and IEDs.


Medics work with tourniquets,

Stop the blood he must be saved,

We can't let brave men die like this,

There's every chance that he will live.


Airlifted home to great applause,

His journey now is learn to walk,

On legs of unfamiliar gait,

There'll be some work with bars

And weights.


He stands assisted for a while,

Each tiny step a major mile,

A hand to guide, an arm to lean,

A grimace, gritted teeth, a scream.


Through pain and torment battle on,

He'll not be beaten by a bomb,

He cannot see, but there's a light,

A thriving spirit full of fight.


He's standing, walking, wobbly pace,

Pure effort pours out from his face,

Each step a step of manly pride,

From sightless eyes, wipe tears aside.


He's fully upright medals gleaming,

Wheelchair waits but isn't needed,

He's walking tall his war is over

For God and country - he's a soldier.


God bless 'em all

 

© Joseph G Dawson