A life Lived Well.

When I was a little girl,

Daddy was barely ever home.

Momma said he was fighting for our Country.

He put a roof over our heads, and food on our plates

But never got to see us.

Momma said to be proud of what he's doing,

But I could never understand.

One day Momma cried more than she usually did about missing poor old daddy.

When she stopped crying, to take a breather

I asked her where daddy was and when he's coming home.

She cried and said very soon. He finally is coming home to his family.

The following week, Momma got a visit, from some men.

They were dressed in what she called, Camoflauge.

They told her daddy was a hero.

His team was under attack, as they were bording the plane.

Terrorists shot missils at him, and soon the plane was burning.

It crashed into the ground.

Some we're lucky enough, to escape.

Sadly, Daddy wasn't one of them.

Momma started to cry, And didn't stop for a week.

I was too young to understand, that daddy wasn't coming home.

As I grew older, I started to realize.

Daddy wasn't coming home, Even if he wanted too.

Every now and then i try to make out a picture of him in my head.

He stood tall and proud, with his uniform on.

Smiling, big and wide, as if nothing was wrong.

Of course I miss him. why wouldn't I?

Momma tells me old stories, of what an amazing life he lived.

And now I say, even though, it was short

His life was a life well lived.