A solitary tree stands on the hill
It has stood for all time. It stands still.
Its bark scarred. Its branches bare.
The weary warrior will find slumber there.
He drops his gear. He’ll close his eyes.
He’ll just rest here until the others arrive.
For shed no tears. He did not die.
He’s feasting in the halls of Valhalla
telling warriors tales and brothers lies.
Dedicated to Command Sargent Major Michael J. Deeb