I always saw you
As the man who would get back home
Later than other fathers
I was a little scared of you
And overawed because everyone saluted you
You were always posted somewhere else
And came home once or twice a month
You always brought me something
Some little gift
Even at nineteen
I think that is all you do,
Being a father
But you are a person too,
With your own insecurities and fears
How do you live through it,
Rescue the dying and come
Back home to us,smiling for me?
How do you do it, Papa?
How do you wake up each day
Not knowing if you would come back to us?
Is that why you can't sleep at night sometimes,
And you say it's because you are growing old?
Do you see the lives you couldn't save?