He finds himself at Edgemont Station
a stick straight figure wrapped in army green,
steady snow camouflages lonely tracks
faint as the locomotive’s far away whistle,
one stop among many in his tenuous state
a subliminal flash to holiday passengers
who leave the nine to five behind;
The Corporal savors the storybook setting
his eyes refreshed by this Rockwell scene,
drawn home by the scent of pumpkin pie
fresh cut trees and church bells ringing,
sliding under a row of dogwoods bare
shivers as he fights winter in all its force
for those lulled to sleep in noiseless white;
Inhales mountain air, crisp down valley blown
carried on the magical sled he first spotted
within circles cleared on silvery panes,
from a second story window
a mile from Edgemont’s station,
where reality crosses another world until
interupted by whistles overhead much louder;
When Johnny Comes marching home again.....
in his mind the sad tune once more plays out,
while a note from home is read aloud
greatest gift next to the babe in a manger,
since this is more than just another hot one
its Christmas Day for us here in Iraq...
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
. Good luck dear friend! ~ Kerri
