“Lament” by Jack Kimball

I read of you whose heroed life has passed
and dreamed again of your temerity;
you charged on conquered hill to strike the flag;
you sailed to home triumphant on the sea.

and I, who only sailed to harbors found
which showed upon my visage clarity,
who only struck a flag when sound
when chance had stricken chance for me.

find now these brittle leaves of autumn dry;
and feel the cold finality,
and ask of it the widowed reason why;
why was your nobled breath not meant for me?