Returning soldier

Sitting inside this quiet house that's weak,
When out of the blue I hear steps so steep,
Running to the window and a steady paste,
I see a wounded patriot with no mistakes,
Hearing the noises of dog tags ring,
Then the sound of a doorbell ding,
Fighting for freedom with scars on his face,
Realizing he was in war, with no disgrace,
Finally I take notice of the knocking,
I opened the door, and started blocking,
Hands over my face to stop the tears,
But it wasn't worth it, there was no fear,
Taking my hands off my face,
As I knew, he left his trace,
The flag on his uniform is all dirty,
As if he went to war in the 1930s,
Tan boots scuffing the ground,
Reminded him of shooting rounds,
The heavy backpack on his back,
As if it was a 20 pound sack,
I looked up at him for the first time,
Then it hit me,and my face turned lime,

Welcome home dad

By:Samuel Cupo