by B. V. Dahlen ©

His manner was happy.
His face wore a smile,
his eager eyes searching
the last endless mile.

Ribbons of yellow
and red white and blue
adorned every front door
that passed into view.

His heart swelled with pride
for he'd done his job well,
but a part of him wept
for his buddies who fell.

His emotions were jumbled.
His feeling were torn.
He needed some time now
to quietly mourn.

He had left here a boy
and now he'd returned,
and in the short span
there was so much he'd learned.

Today all that mattered
was a few miles ahead,
and anticipation
was beginning to spread.

At last, the bus station
and people galore,
but one, only one
was he searching for.

Both tear streaked and laughing
her face filled his view,
and with all his mixed feelings
there was one thing he knew.

He had hated that desert.
He had hated the war,
and he knew only freedom
was worth fighting for.

He wasn't a hero
with ambitions to roam.
As he ran to her arms
he at last had come home.