He found his full measure in blood-soaked war-torn land
Where the challenges were there for all to see
There were times when he saw what he couldn’t understand
He saw men and women in fear, forced to flee.
Yet still he would carry out his work, at a pace
In a constantly vigilant state, of course
For a life in the dangerous places he’d faced
Never left time for social intercourse.
So many would call, and the visits he’d make
And he always did the best that he could
As soldiers of all sorts left blood in their wake
He picked up the mess like a good surgeon would.
His house had been damaged like others had
He certainly suffered like many others did
And though losing his wife and son made him sad
He carried on regardless as his decency bid.
When it will end, no one can ever predict
He hated the violence and the death
He prayed for a day of no conflict
So people could at last draw clean breath.
It’s sad, but a bullet found him one day
Not really one that was aimed straight at him
The man fired in the direction of an enemy
He fell in a make-shift surgery in a gym.
©Joe Wilson – It goes on and on…2015