I saw him watching by the street
The dust of ages on his feet
His swarthy face was flecked with green
Of eyes that hide his thoughts unseen
That pierce, and haunt, and wonder why
Why we have come so far to die?
Why we have sought to own this place?
Why we might stop short in our race?
He watched us fight the desert heat
As he stood shaded by the street.
Written in May, 2007, for the watcher in Falluja.
1 comment:
Very nice poetry. I liked it.
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