The Muted Soldier

I drew him out quite gradually,
At first I did not soldier see,
But then I saw his vibrancy,
Was tinted with a shade of Cree.

His eyes of blue no longer view
The world is other white men do;
His ears attuned to Creenglish sound,
Pick up that ambience around.

His helmet with its poppy flowers
Is muted, still protects his powers
Of thought (what once were bullet holes
Reflect his shift to broader goals).

For surface press through sign of peace
Has permeated deep beneath,
So badges of concerted fight
Are now a candle in the night.

At first I saw just signs of age,
But then I sensed internal sage
Less flashy in an outward way,
But pondered more the words he’d say

Encircling hope though crisp before,
Was now subdued to Creenglish lore;
A longer journey in the fight
To push back darkness of the night.

So veteran of those former wars
Has mellowed through the years because
He’s come to see his place in life
As separate from the field of strife.

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