The Soldier Poem by Carolina Apicella

I don't know your identity

but I am certain you died for me.

You are buried in that small cemetery

near the road I travel to work.

Every morning, like a rooster that doesn't miss a song,

my eyes turn to the right.

There is your tomb with a statue

of a soldier holding a gun in his hand.

It looks over East were the sun is born.

For a moment I want to know your name,

your birthday and what type of life you lived.

I want to know where and when you lost your life.

Thinking I resign that my questions

don't need answers.

I only know that your courage

has the value of my freedom.