A Letter From The Gulf Poem by B.W. Holt

Dear Mom,
Today I met the enemy,
In the scorching desert sand,
He crawled out of his foxhole,
He bowed and kissed my hand,
The tears welled up within my eyes
As he cried like a little child.
That man lived among the flies,
And gone the second mile.

There's nothing like the trial by fire,
To teach all men a lesson,
The enemy that I met today,
Turned out to be a blessing.
Is it wrong to love our enemies?
Is it wrong to think this way?
If it is, dear Mom, the world should know,
I learned a great lesson today.

As I write this letter to you, Mom,
I can't help but begin to cry,
To think of all the fragile men,
Who came out here to die.

When this war is done and over, Mom,
And the fighting finally ends,
Do you think the nations of the world

Will learn to now be friends?