I met one decorated man in my Lodge and after our talk, I wrote a poem about it. I have never shown it to anyone outside of my family. If you'd like to read it it is here.
Hero
Have you ever talked to a hero?
Looked him straight in the eye,
And asked him the question,
What made you, Death to defy?
Did you ask him what made him special?
Why did he take the chances he took?
Was he anxious to answer your questions?
And did he give you a strange look?
Did his eyes look at you with a question?
Did he have a strange look on his face?
Did you think he was looking you over,
To see what you would have done in his place?
Did he try to avoid the question?
Or did he answer straight away?
When he answered, did you listen closely,
To hear what he had to say?
Did you ever talk to a Hero,
And listen as his tale he told?
Did you notice if his lips trembled,
As his story started to unfold?
Last night I talked to a Hero.
A man whose story is told,
By the medals he had worn on his uniform,
Made of Silver and bronze and gold.
We talked for several hours,
About the days of war and strife,
About the friends he remembered,
About those who had lost their lives.
And when I could hold back no longer,
The question I then posed to him.
What was the special something he had?
What made him go out on that limb?
He looked at me straight, with eyes bright and clear,
And said,
Hero
Have you ever talked to a hero?
Looked him straight in the eye,
And asked him the question,
What made you, Death to defy?
Did you ask him what made him special?
Why did he take the chances he took?
Was he anxious to answer your questions?
And did he give you a strange look?
Did his eyes look at you with a question?
Did he have a strange look on his face?
Did you think he was looking you over,
To see what you would have done in his place?
Did he try to avoid the question?
Or did he answer straight away?
When he answered, did you listen closely,
To hear what he had to say?
Did you ever talk to a Hero,
And listen as his tale he told?
Did you notice if his lips trembled,
As his story started to unfold?
Last night I talked to a Hero.
A man whose story is told,
By the medals he had worn on his uniform,
Made of Silver and bronze and gold.
We talked for several hours,
About the days of war and strife,
About the friends he remembered,
About those who had lost their lives.
And when I could hold back no longer,
The question I then posed to him.
What was the special something he had?
What made him go out on that limb?
He looked at me straight, with eyes bright and clear,
And said,