The old man on the park bench
Looking very old, tired and worn,
Was worried about the weather
And tonight, if he would stay warm.

To get through another empty day
He’d walk the lonely streets.
Doing whatever he had to do,
To try and find something to eat.


He had went and fought a war
Over thirty long years ago,
His body came back intact
But his mind never made it home.

Tonight it would be below zero
And the snow was getting deep,
He had made it to his shelter
And he froze to death in his sleep.


The police checked for identification
But his old tattered coat just fell apart,
They looked on in shock and horror
Pinned over his heart was The Silver Star…


© Jeffrey Paul Guest
Feb. 21, 2006