I don’t bitch and moan
About growing old
To me it’s a privilege
One which was denied
to so many
My fallen pals
And the countless foe
Those who never left
The bloody field
Or succumbed to their
wounds
Never to return
To a sweetheart’s arms
Or to sit beside the
home fire
So, I bare the pains
of age
With stoicism
And thank all that’s
holy
For my long life
And the fruits of
longevity
And keep the memory
In my heart for all
the fallen youth
Until I re-join them
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