see him sitting over there,
in that old beat up wheelchair,

he's looking out the window,
and on his face the sun glows,

holds a kool in his fingers,
the cloying smoke still lingers,

on his face there is stubble,
face looks as hard as rubble,

dressed in a hospital gown,
and i.v. tubing hangs down,

the nurse comes and interrupts,
she hands him pills and a cup,

she says, "it's time for your meds...
still have that pain in your head?"

nodding, he then takes the pills,
not quite trusting doctor's skills,

wishing for the thousandth time,
he hadn't stepped on that mine,

the shrapnel's still lodged inside,
docs won't remove it, besides

if they they try to take it out,
he could die...they have no doubt,

it's lodged right next to his spine,
he feels they won't take the time,

reads the paper as he sups,
needs a blanket, covers up,

lays down, he prepares to sleep,
hopes he doesn't dream too deep,

that's when the nightmares begin,
for this worn out veteran.
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let's resolve to take care of those
that fought for our freedoms...visit
a veteran in the hospital, & thank
him or her for their service. love
& (((HUGS))), karla. :)