one precious event
in this deep-dusk silence
of jungle-muted sounds
as the waning sun
disappears behind
orange-purple cloud-streaks
making shadows sharp
on the ragged ridges
of distant horizon
the heart-startling
hazards of day
are forgotten
and the soul
takes stock
pauses
for a moment
in the midst
of man-made inanity
to contemplate
precious events
those before
those hereafter
even those here
amid splintered chaos
like
the beer-bellied
cigar-mouthed tough
seasoned sergeant
bending a calloused
tender hand
to apply so gently
medicine
to the wound
of an ailing child
a victim of circumstance
and war
Summer, 1967
Qui Nhon, Vietnam
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