WAR WAS THE SEASON

WAR WAS THE SEASON

He found himself wishing
As time passed him by,
That war was the one thing
Not too soon could die.

He was shot in the leg
Just below the knee,
On a tired youthful face
The pain you could see.

Now his blithe countenance
Most surely was lost,
The look in his dark eyes
A blanket of frost.

So warm was the feeling
Of blood crimson red,
He would never stop now
Until he was dead.

Cold comfort surrounded
knowing no reason,
He would fight for his life,
War was the season.

©1/5/04
Monty