by Dolores Moore

Created on: August 25, 2008

They are young, frightened, drab, yet full
Of killing power. They squat and hide, careful
Of the unseen enemy. I feel for them, those boys
With rifles, night sights, their powerful toys.

Over their shoulders they glance, vigilant, ever
Watchful. Trusting not a soul, they must never
Let down that guard. That's what it means,
Being a soldier, always at the scene.

Scenes of destruction, death and worse,
The soldier is a witness to the curse
Of human suffering. The unending pain
That must be endured, time and time again.

Somebody's son, another's daughter,
Soldiers are lambs, led to the slaughter.
In a cause, or somebody else's war.
Brave soldiers, remembered, evermore.

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