At The Bedside
He died in clean white sheets
and a folded corner bedspread
not on a stretcher bound.

He died in a loved ones arms
and a mother's tear on his cheek
not in a medic's frantic hands.

He died in a peaceful room
and a breeze from the window
not in the gritty desert lands.

He died in a scent of flowers
and a comb put through his hair
not on a dishevelled ground.

Battlefield or bedside, it is still death
the death of a soldier, a father, a son
a husband, a brother, a person; someone.