To The Man On Page Three Poem by Frederick Francis

I hear solemnly on the morning news
Of another too soon tragedy over sea.
I turn the pages of the newspaper
And find a self portrait staring back at me.

Your hands are my hands.
Your eyes are my eyes.
But it is your blood on foreign sands,
Only your mother mourns and cries.

Your motivation and determination,
It’s so much like my own.
But to you there’s added bravery;
I just stayed at home.

I want to envy you for the
Great thing that you’ve done.
I lack you courageousness;
I stayed home and had fun.

One breath of your life
Is worth a dozen of mine.
Next to you my spirit’s bland,
It lacks your exuberant shine.

There are just too many of you.
It seems like a new one each day.
I wish I could say we cry for you,
But it’s just a rainy day in May.