A soldier stumbles, sliding down the valley,
Bloody and bruised, he finds a way to rally.
Behind enemy lines, his wounds are deep,
The attack he escaped, will haunt his sleep.
In ancient Greece, a remote part of Crete,
He stands in a stream, cool against the heat.
A forgetten arch, a bridge to obscurity,
A refuge to rest, and some temporary secutity.
His wounds flow freely, blood covers his lips,
Into the clear water, his life slowly drips.
Soft maroon swirls, fading beacons of his clamber,
Over rocks and water, to reach the pool glowing amber.
The water bubbles softly, pillars of light filter through,
A carpet of red leaves, a singing bird or two.
A place of serenity, where peace fiercely reigns,
Ruined by a dying man, whose blood only stains.
A promise to keep, a home to return,
Make love to his wife, some midnight oil to burn.
His kids would be out playing, in the Mediterranean sun,
Wondering where their father is, his games were so much fun.
Darkness falls, while night creatures rise,
His death would be their blessing, his bloody corpse their prize.
He must decide as he sleeps, to go home or stay,
By morning sun, the pool is quiet, the solider slips away.
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