That cold steel felt ominous, was a discomfort to the sleeping man's face,
The nine MM pistol near his pillow, always reminding him of a bad place.
Morning came with a trip to the yard, to feed a yellow cat something to eat,
A big Pit Bull caught the cat's tail, then the man grabbed the dog's back feet.
Swinging the heavy mutt toward a nearby parked garbage pick-up truck,
He gently lifted the cat, to stroke its fur, then released the dog, to be in luck.
It limping home, the owner's wife just laughed, nursing her own swollen eye,
Said the old dog got his come-up-ens, wished she could do the same to old Bry.
"Did you feed that cat," his wife asked, as she poured coffee in his mug,
"The cat's just fine," he answered, straightening up the living room rug.
His dusty medal on the mantel piece, a Purple Heart, he got in the war,
He gently picked it up to dust it off, then walked back through the door.
Old soldier, you were a hero then, that medal given to you, it was not enough,
That Asian war, was unforgiving, in its toll taken, and of the pain, it was rough.
Several enemy lost to your keen eye, and that one bullet meant to take your life,
As you carried fellow soldiers from a smokey field, amid a battle filled with strife.
Now you sit in church each Sunday, the war times, you never do forget them,
In remembrance, the lives taken, you ask god's forgiveness, singing each hymn.
The Lord's Supper, in its reverence of Christ's holy flesh, his blood shed for thee,
You have to leave your thoughts and of guilt, my son, by that cross at Calvary.
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