Father's Little Soldier

When I was little,

My daddy raised me high,

For all the world to see.

My father smiled,

For he knew what,

I would grow up,

To be.

He called me his soldier.

A fighter and protector.

But I was small,

I was scared,

And I missed sitting,

On my Father's shoulders.

All my life I had been protected,

By my mother,

My father,

And my brother and sister.

But one by one they trailed away,

Leaving me and my mother,

To live alone day by day.

I didn't understand,

Until today what they meant,

About fear and hunger,

And battling other men.

Yet here I am,

Honoring those who,

I love,

Those who have died,

Those who have lost.

Everyday I long,

For my father's shoulders,

Wishing that he could have seen,

His little soldier.

It would have made him proud,

Seeing me today.

Fighting to bring peace,

Our way.

Eventually I saw my brother and sister,

Through their final days.

I kissed their eyes,

And willed the fates,

To take them far, far, away.

Away from all the hunger,

And the endless pain.

But for my mother I will endure,

This never-ending, painful war.

For in the end,

I am my father's soldier,

And I know in my finest hour,

I will be sitting,

Once again,

Upon his very shoulders.