With her picture in his pocket,
A young soldier goes to war.
Though he doesn't want to leave her,
Or know what he's fighting for.
He's told it's to fight for freedom
In strange and faraway lands.
So he marches bravely onward,
With his rifle in his hands.
As since the infancy of time,
They are sent to fight for peace.
But fighting begets more fighting,
Disagreements never cease.
Side by side, he and his brothers
Do the bidding of their chief.
They advance with their guns blasting,
To impose their own belief.
But while fighting for religion,
They see things they can't unsee.
And their souls are stained with bloodshed,
The price of freedom isn't free.
While his comrades fall around him,
The young soldier marches on.
With her picture in his pocket,
And his faith in God all gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem