What cruel thing, what foul deed,
Look at his wounds, see how they bleed;
His head, now bare, lies in the dirt,
Thank God, ‘twas quick, he doesn’t hurt.
The bullet struck his brave young heart,
And as he fell — mine fell apart;
Of all these wars, what is the use,
All the fighting and the abuse.
How many are the men who died
Like the soldier here by my side;
I look at him and I am sad,
A little boy has lost his Dad.
But he was brave, my friend, I know.
When I get home I’ll tell them so;
He gave his life for those he loved,
He rests in peace with God above.
We do our best, we give our all,
We are the ones who heard the call
To serve our country in its need;
In hope that you will all be free.
A fleeting thought goes through my head—
Maybe, one day, they’ll find ME dead!
If so, I pray that at the end
I go with grace just like my friend.
© 2001 Fay Herridge