Wounded Soldier

A wounded soldier,
Casts a forlorn shadow,
Alone in a meadow,
Not far from Aberdeen.

His company long gone,
Cut down, one by one,
In a hailstorm of artillery.

He attempts one more stride,
Mustering all of his pride,
Before falling ungracefully.

He looks below,
And to all of his woe,
He has little below his knee.

It's plain to see,
For you and for me,
Another victim
Of war misery.