Editor's Note:
The following poem was sent to Estevan Mercury as a tribute to the men and women who have served their country.
The writer of this poem wished to remain anonymous.
I met a soldier, he lived on the street.
He told me a story, his heart did beat,
The pain was in his face, sadness in his soul,
His eyes were lifeless like an empty bowl.
The story he told was of a choice he made
To cross open field. His voice did fade.
He was filled with anger, followed by rage,
As he advanced the danger he’s never truly engaged.
As he stood on the hill with the victory he won
When he turned, all he saw – the ravage of the gun.
He returned to Canada, a skeleton man.
Afghanistan took his soul, did we offer a hand?
