The Fall of Eight

I met a boy-
His eyes, void of joy.
hair as white as snow;
He begged thee not to go.

I do not go for crown… for gold;
nor for the riches they may hold.
I do not go for honor… for health;
nor for the tales that have yet been told.

I met a man who could not stand-
he only sat, blood and guts in hand.
skin pale and eyes white:
done was his fight.

"Platoon of eight-
We lay waste.
Nine by nine-
They piled high.
Some do cry-
while others lie;
But all must… die!"

I met a girl;
battered by the world.
she rocked to and fro;
she begged thee not to go.

I do not march for banner… for flag;
nor shall I march to conquer this land.
I do not show such dread… such fear;
though death has certainly followed thee here.

I met a man rifle in hand-
in the land for the damned.
his eyes full of hate;
I fell with the platoon of eight.

I do not die for God… for love;
nor the thing I had believed of.
for I did not wish to go to war-
only to ask… "what was it all for?"

I met a woman, all dress in black;
she kissed thy brow in a final act.
to thee, twas death she had shown.
I begged her, "please… do not let me go!"