Homeless Honor

Medals of honor, crosses all in a row,

Bugles blown sadly, wreaths tied in a bow.

A man clad in dirty rags, brown bag in hand.

Fumbles for a smoke, adjusting his headband.

Long ago a soldier, tall, lean, and proud.

Now, his uniform more resembles a shroud.

His hard weathered face echoes the gray streaked hair,

Eyes change in a flash into that thousand yard stare.

Thoughts, return from a far off place,

Mist clouds his eyes, tears flow down his face.

Brown bag lifted to tobacco stained lip,

Killing another memory, he takes a longer sip.

To “Taps” he listens with head turned down.

Walks slowly to his hangout, downtown.

He shivvers in the cold, and shrivels in the heat.

Dies in early Autumn, a death, painful and slow.

Last thoughts were of honor, and crosses all in a row!