Copyright C.J.Lindsay 2020
There's a weight about my chest;
three small metal mementos
of painful loss and pyrrhic gain.
I didn't earn them.
They're not mine so
they must be yours.
Bequeathed by a fallen soldier,
it doesn't matter which war.
There's a weight about my chest;
feelings made raw and tender
by timeless tales of painful loss
and pyrrhic gain.
I haven't earned them,
but they're not yours
they're mine.
Bequeathed by our fallen soldiers.
That's why I go and march in time.
Lest We Forget.