He stands just a little straighter,
throws his once strong shoulders back.
He hears, "My Country Tis of Thee"
his handsome face, no longer slack.

Wounded, in his defiant mind,
he was left blind upon the field.
All of him did not come home,
and his brave heart won't ever yield.

He spends silent days still fighting,
for his faceless God and country
His tired, worn wife still tends him,
she's praying, "Please come back to me."

I brushed past a spirit on my way down the stairs
and on the back of my neck to, their " bristly ends", stood those hairs
I pondered there in fright with some measured apprehension
To this lost soul's final journey, a fiery decent or blessed ascension.

And I realised but there in an instant be it pig farmer or ballet
By the scent in this breezeway of a sweet, scented bouquet
As I turned and looked upward a floating orb there appeared
and l knew she was homeward bound, a life's path faithfully steered.

Nightly she is alone
Her heart a queen
That forfeited the throne

Her power
A bright hope
For a dark hour

She erases pain
her mere smile
puts an end to rain

Oh, when she cries
A star from heaven
slowly dies

Oh, this is no tale
Just a queen
That will prevail

Her sweet embrace
Gives a hope
No tyrant can erase

Oh, who can she be?
in pages of time
she is set free

given the chance
enemies turned
lovers that dance

I once had an engine, I called it Alfraido,
with four spinning wheels, that easily go.
The seats, all leather, genuine in black,
and a horn that beeps with a cluck and clack.
That was my first ever car to show.