“Never has there been a good war or a bad peace.”
-Benjamin Franklin

His hazel eyes shone mystically amid his aged cheeks and chops,
His brow lay furrowed like the fields of beans and barley crops.
He spoke and said he had hoped to drive a big ol’ stake through life,
To hop off the train that rambled on past soldiers, drums, and fife.
To hop off the train that barreled by the homes of those he’d kissed,
The visions of ticking clocks by night-he had prayed would soon desist.

“My eyes have drank a sea of folly and bathed in salty tears,
My ears have housed a thousand wails and secrets of brave men’s fears.”

I watched the old man as he winced and a tear escaped and rolled,
And in its crystal form I saw his bold life and love unfold.
That crystal tear spun and spun like a revolving looking glass,
On each moist face of that tear was etched a scene of his journeys past.
How intricate, that little tear, and how telling all the same,
I saw the pain and loss and strife of his war-that wretched game.

“To hop off this train to find the trail that will lead me back on home,
Please stop the train-Please oil my rust and set my heart to roam.”

His speech rang with freedom-he longed for peace he knew I could supply,
“The sweat, the tears, and the lonely nights will be the ones to die!”
His hazel eyes pierced my soul as he unearthed this gentle plea,
So I stopped that train with all my might and he sighed, “God be with thee.”