i know of only one duty.

I watched
An Indian summer
In her Gypsy eyes.

She said she’d never kiss a soldier with a gun in his hand
He said he’d never kiss a woman whose hurt he could stand
He never spoke a sermon as planned, turned and he ran
As turn coat, burned hope, ashamed of this land

He kept his back to the wall
On every day of this war
On every prayer he swore
That although duty would call
He’d keep the promise he made
Saw her sobbing in shame
Saw her dropping his name
In every conversation the same
That he was born to break her
Tears ruin letters that were meant to save her
He was more than a temporary saviour
With brave words
He always kept her poem to hand
Sealed in the envelope
It stayed unopened as planned

She said she’d never love a man who would die in a war
He said he’d never love a woman who could describe what she saw
He was tired and fought to the best he can
Closed eyes, don’t cry, he showed the best of man

She kept her face to the glass
Wished on every day that would pass
Kept his picture in her mind
Where she knew it would last
Chewing over memories
Which clung to the sky as sweet melody
Left a butterfly bruise on her past
She was losing it fast
Assuming a mask of hate and lust
Time would tell if they were brave enough
She spoke with a shamans touch
And held prayers to the sky
When the days erupt

She said she’d never touch a man who died in a field of poppies
He said he’d never touch a woman who shied of robbery
They say that time is costly and the guns ring true
She said, when you come home, bring the sun with you

He turned his back as the guns rang true
He stepped from the trenches
With a rum brave view
Knowing that some days truth
Would leave her in his arms again
She’d never had a thing for army men
But the conscription kicked in
It made her think sick things
About what he might do, so she scripted
A letter of sorts, poetry prose
But what she wrote inside
Only he’d know
Till the day he got home and gave it back
To the woman he loved with tears in his eyes
And the words that she wrote, traced in ash
Read sincerely in a basic poem
That if he arrived home without a death on his hands
Then she’d take him home

She took him home

He’d made it home