His Last Request

The crimson sun was slowly settling in the west;
A soldier lay on the battlefield, nearing the end of life's quest.
Left to die a lonely death upon the recent field of strife;
Thoughts of home consumed him, as he approached eternal life.

A padre was searching across that sacred, ravaged ground,
To see if a breath of life among the fallen could be found.
He heard a faint whisper, "Padre, come, talk with me, hold my hand,
Ere I am borne by the angels toward that golden strand."

The padre held the Yankee's hand and clasped him to his breast;
"You did your best; God will crown you with a regal crest.
Take comfort knowing your sacrifice will not have been in vain;
Because of you, this nation will be united in brotherhood again!"

"The slain man lying next to me is also my mother's son;
Oh, padre, will God forgive me for the awful deed I've done?
I chose to struggle for the North, his allegiance was to the South;
'Brother, I love and forgive you', were the last words from his mouth!"

"God understands and will forgive, fear you not , my son;
In the heat of battle, deeds occur that cannot be undone."
"Thank you, padre; please read to me the Twenty-third Psalm,
That I may begin my eternal journey with reassuring calm."

by Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired