On the border stand a few men in shivering cold who have sworn that
not a soul shall cross as long as they stand. You and I live oblivious of this cozy and safe their sacrifice gone unnoticed. At home we have a similar
a farmer and soldier rolled into one
who sees that there is food on the fire
our safety his only concern. As long as alive we notice him not, a stranger to wish once in a while. He is the one we call father. Mother we praise in verse and rhyme yet not a word for him at home and the one on the border. Dear friends of mine remember them say a kind word once in a while they are the heroes brave hearts with hearts of gold.

If God was your neighbour in a village,
you would have exchanged pleasantries,
would have know by the look in his face whether he had lunch or not. His eyes would have told you if he needed a shoulder to cry. In the city in a flat if he was your neighbour would have met him in the corridor or lift occasionally giving and receiving a meaningless smile. If that's gods story just imagine the rest.