The Price of Freedom I never was a soldier, so have no tale to tell of cloying mud and seas of blood and trenches into hell. I didnt get the call up, so how am I to know of ghosts who stand on scarlet sand where angels fear to go? I didnt serve my country, so missed the pained goodbyes of men who cried as brothers died beneath those leaden skies. I never fought for freedom, so couldnt understand the metal rain of searing pain that ripped across the sand. I didnt have the calling, so where do I begin to understand exploding land that tears them limb from limb? I never had to comprehend the pain of mothers cries. The tragic price of devils dice when rolled to see who dies. So why should I remember? How could it ever be those gallant dead, spilled poppy red and gave their lives for me? I never was a soldier, and never went away like those who tried, and cried, and died, but marched so I could stay. K. M. Ashman
Posted on: Tue, 04 Nov 2014 17:40:31 +0000