I am not the first to die
And roads beyond bring ever
But I must hope that someone's
Will speak of war no more.
I did not choose this age to live
Or seek a soldier's martyrdom.
This lonely land I barely knew ---
So many miles from home.
In Spring of life and Spring of year
It is goodbye, my task is done.
For April shall not come for me
And I will feel no summer sun.
To live, believe and understand
Was all I sought to do.
But fate decreed it otherwise,
My cross must pass to you.
In spirit now my hand extends
To all with war distraught.
Oh grasp my hand and still the fear
That I have died for naught.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.