Sweet laughter rises from his heart,
The little child of three years old,
In safety rests before the start,
Of histories yet to be told.
His father’s home is warm and vast,
His every need has been ensured,
So that his youth in peace can last,
Because of what others endured.
The mantel piece above the hearth,
The father once in war did wield,
His son will never know the worth,
Of broken sword and beaten shield.
And there he rests while unaware,
Of all his father bravely faced,
So that his son should never care,
So that he might of freedom taste.
Reblogged this on Rhyme Written In Red and commented:
3 years ago I wrote this little piece in honour of our United States veterans – to all those who have fallen, and to all those who have served.