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The Colors of a Soldier
June 7, 2012
The red, the white, the blue,
And possibly the green flight suit.
The sound of jet engines,
The glinting blue eyes.
When he comes home late from work,
He’s silent as a night owl.
When he laughs at my stupid jokes,
He’s loud as a hyena.
When he’s gone,
I try not to worry.
I know he’ll be safe,
Even in the green zone of the battle.
My father is a soldier,
And for a long time I hated that.
But now I am so proud,
And so glad that he is home.
Finally, finally home . . .
© Pooja B., Naperville, IL
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