In the distant lonely land
Where man nor beast can ever stand
The biting heat, the chilling breeze
Wanders a solitary soldier lean
A wounded body he drags along
In pain to God he calls aloud
Sands of his life are running out
As trails of blood he leaves about
A parched throat and a skin so dry
Blistered feet and a heavy mind
Some rest, comfort or a caressing hand
Are dreamy tales of yet another land.
His dreary shoulders sadly bent
In quest of some inhabited tent
The soldier surges on ahead
Holding his gun in his hand
An ailing mother, old and sad
His heart’s beloved, young and frail
His cosy cottage in the village
Haunting images- not real, all a mirage
The soldier’s feet fails his will
He trips, staggers, his mighty build
Pulled down to the hot bed of sand
His grave he saw now in the desert land
A sandy blanket covers our brave heart
A dry grave decked with scorpions and spiders
Peace and tranquillity now his armour
An unsung hero, a memory forever…
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