`It started in Texas, on a sunny day
Down the road, a mile from the route
A little boy, just trying to play
Shoulders burned and dust on the boot
12 years goes by grind
A broadcast, urges young adults to serve and recruit
And so a young man gets his paper signed
and marches off, proud but ready, a little dust on the boot
In a camp in a base, far from home
The young man learns how to obey and salute
He learns much, underneath that military dome
A soldier in the making, a gun, and a little dust on the boot
Now overseas, he fights in other lands
A hard fight, a cool temper astute
trying to win, and meet his officers demands
A gun, a helmet, and a little dust on the boot
There comes the day when all ends
and cruel fate cuts all off a piece of a tree's root
a funeral, a day of grief from family and friends
but always, memories, happiness, and a little dust on the boot
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's terrible when you come to think of it. So many like your soldier have lost their lives. In vain, I do no know. I do not like wars. I like the poem. Bless you. Read my poems sometimes. Mohabeer Beeharry