The Old Liberators
Of all the people in the mornings at the mall,
It's the old liberators I like best,
Those veterans of the Bulge, Anzio, or Monte Cassino
I see lost in Automotive or back in Home Repair,
Bored among the paints and power tools.
Or the really old ones, the ones who are going fast,
Who keep dozing off in the little orchards
Of shade under the distant skylights.
All around, from one bright rack to another,
Their wives stride big as generals,
Their handbags bulging like ripe fruit.
They are almost all gone now,
And with them they are taking the flak
And fire storms, the names of the old bombing runs.
Each day a little more of their memory goes out,
Darkens the way a house darkens,
Its rooms quietly filling with evening,
Until nothing but the wind lifts the lace curtains,
The wind bearing through the empty rooms
The rich far off scent of gardens
Where just now, this morning,
Light is falling on the wild philodendrons.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Old Liberators by Robert Hedin )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- hey ass-wipe, i love you, Mandolyn ...
- The Mystery Of Word, Bazi alis Subrata Ray
- Men who see no day, Zimba Sundrogo
- Handsome and king, hasmukh amathalal
- Stoned by sadness, Nalini Chaturvedi
- The Goodness of a Life-mate (Section-6 .., rajendran muthiah
- Heart to, hasmukh amathalal
- An Ode to my Tree, Kelly Curiel
- foliage, snehanair manikkath
- Love Lures Life! - sonnet-, Manjeshwari P MYSORE