Brave Young Hearts

Brave Young Heart

In ranks of grey men a child stands

Gun held, shining, shoulder high

Only eighteen this coming summer

And yet he stands, out there, prepared to die.

In makeshift tent she works miracles unaided

Cures young men with a casual smile and careless lie

Her eyes alone show her heart is breaking

As she looks each day at those she knows will die.

On mountain top now deep with drifting snow

He calls and listens for each echoed sound

With aching heart He leaves the dead behind

And leads survivors back down to safe ground

On the rutted road to cities lost to war

They swallow fear and think about the aim

To feed and clothe the dispossessed and starving

These brave young hearts who bring praise upon our name

 

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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