Into the night they come,
These purveyors decked in Kevlar, mortar, and silent munitions
They hang their hats on our sadly stooped heads
Smiling inanely, as if expecting the eyes to greet theirs
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I especially like this poem because my husband was a WWII veteran who came home with one leg. And the one thing he never liked was being on display. He wax a hard-working man until the day he died.