Number

Number
(Mike Wheatley)

There’s ONE number that’s stuck inside my head; it will be stuck in there until the day that I am dead.
It’s not a big number it is actually rather small, to me this number stands very tall.
The number has five letters; you see it’s not very big,
It’s the number of soldiers I’ve known that did not live;

 they paid the ultimate sacrifice, their lives they did give.
But again they will live, in Fiddler’s Green; a place where Great Calvary men are seen.
They will be seen passing the bottle around, there are smiles shared, not a single frown.
Not a one soldier will have war scars; they will have both legs and both arms.
Not a single one of them will suffer from pain; there will be no signs of injuries gained.
But until that day this number is burnt in my brain, this number will continue to bring me pain.
The nightmares and flashbacks drive me insane, wishing my life were simple…plain.
Caskets adorned with American flags, soldiers rendering their honored salute.
These are some of the memories I wish to dilute.
Back to this number that’s been floating around, this is how many I’ve know, to be placed in the ground.
Each one of these numbers I have known well, I regret to this day that they all fell.
If I had one more chance to speak with them all, this is what I would tell,

“Please be careful my brothers, watch your every step.
You never know what’s around that corner or when you’ll take that last breath.
Tell your family you love them every chance you get,
You don’t want to pass through the light, with any regret.
Say your prayers with God, cleanse away your sin, at any given time your life could be taken.
You are all my brothers I would hate to see you hurt,
But this is combat and death is almost for sure!”
The number that I speak about, by now you’re curious I’m sure.
This number has caused, many years of sorrow and hurt.
EIGHT is my dreaded…unlucky…number.