He never let a teardrop fall
Nor trickle down his cheek.
It isn’t what a real man does,
Tears mark the frail and weak.
The sergeant’s stripes upon his arm
Said leader strong and bold
No sign of weakness shall be shown
And frailty’s for the old.
But in his mind, that little voice,
That niggling refrain,
Was constantly reminding him,
Even steel cracks under strain.
Though steel ran through this man’s backbone
The rest was flesh and blood
Much as he knew he should seek help
He knew he never would.
And when that final straw was placed
Upon the sergeant’s pack
He felt the tears behind his eyes
Yet still he held them back.
So now he sits, morose and sad
Just staring at the wall
And thinking he’d be seen as weak
To make that vital call
He feels a little strength return
His hand picks up the phone
He hears a kindly voice respond
“No need to be alone”
‘Twas then he felt a teardrop fall
It trickled down his cheek
And sensing just a speck of hope
Life felt not quite so bleak.