I sit awhile to use my loafbrooding life's fuzzy vice
of those to whom it brought reproach
and whose reward it had denied.
The story it never told of men
that now in grave repose
who live'd a live impaire'd
by the dishonour fate bestowe'd.
The patriotic soldier,who at war
gave his life for freedom
and knew not what it meant
to enjoy the peace for which he fought.
The people b'hind the man
who today has gain'd repute.
The effort of that woman
that watch'd him grow from cradle.
The Cerynian stranger on calvary road
that,from the country sojourn'd in;
was force'd to bear the cross
and made to carry it b'hind the Lord.
How is it that they be many,
but we have come to sing of none?
They held common forebearances,
yet their identity we glean not.
Examplars abound in endless list
of men who strove in laud-ful feats.
The simple act of great bravery
of these heroes,we never sing.
COPYRIGHT©2011,CHRIS.F.LUCID
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