Last Mans Club

The old men at the party
Each and all were buddies
Their faces lined and faded
As the combat maps once studied.

A last mans club near midnight
Their numbers growing small.
No longer straight and sturdy
No longer brave and tall

Each raised his glass to soldiers
Now harder to remember
With tearful eye and heavy heart
All now in late December.
We all are in a last mans club
As agile youth grows feeble
Each and every hundred years
It’s almost all-new people.

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