I lay here on this cold and wet old dirty park bench, alone. Begging for scraps and being ridiculed. I think quietly to myself this is where I will die but I am not scared of death and begin to embrace the thought. Life wasn't always hard and empty, I had my friends and my wife and our families. I feel optimistic, a spark of hope that in the afterlife I will see them again. I begin to cypher through the memories, the good and the bad and one by one a silent tear rolls down my wrinkled aged cheeks. Yes lord I am ready to die, take me home.
It was the summer of 1914; I had just turned eighteen and was so in love with a beautiful fine young lady whose smile would light up the room. I knew the very first time I saw her she would be the one I would
It was the summer of 1914; I had just turned eighteen and was so in love with a beautiful fine young lady whose smile would light up the room. I knew the very first time I saw her she would be the one I would