Many accept the name of soldier,
Yet sit in the office, at the rear.
Whilst the real soldier, the combat soldier,
I ask a not so simple question,
About the soldiers mission.
Is their fight worth fighting?
He packed his bag, and loaded his gear,
Grabbed his gun, and was soon to depart.
His little girl looked up, with many a tear,
And handed him his helmet, and a piece of art.
Another bomb explodes, bodies far and wide;
The concussion spreads, resembling a tide.
These terrorist, murderers they are, soldiers not;
I’ve seen death’s eyes,
in a soldiers last gasp.
I’ve heard its ire cries,
in child’s last grasp.