OLD SOLDIER

He knew he was crochety.

He’d forgotten how to love.

His cane held him upright and

allowed him to kick at stones

along the winding path home.

He wanted for nothing but

stones to kick and maybe a

bone to pick once he arrived.

Being crochety was safe.

He knew it and they knew it,

and at night after supper

he could be found down

in his old soldier’s fox hole.

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
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2 Responses to OLD SOLDIER

  1. Bob Shepherd says:

    Wow. Nan. Another great poem. You have a gift! This work is awesome.

    Like

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