I am too old for war

I am too old for war

but I go, anyway,

or in spite of; the war

demands all. I see

a sea of white linen

extending up hillsides

of this valley. I look

down to see what

I am wearing; the linen

is the same. My hands

are gnarled; old trees.

The linen is the same.

The sword in my hand

begins to sing. I know

the song, by heart.

I have sung it before,

when I was young,

too young for war.

Photograph by Anna Langova via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.