The wind explored the young soldier's body

His mouth, clenched tight in death,

His hands, in fear.



He died, not knowing why he fought

Killed by those he once called brothers

By those who were so very like him;

By those with whom he could have shared

A wealth of friendship, love, and caring.



The wind caressed the old soldier's face

His eyes, locked open in death,

His mind, locked closed in hate.



He fought, not caring if he died,

For time had spread the poison

Of nurtured malice and mindless rage,

Of bitter spite and sightless ire

Through all that he was.



The wind saw the broken battlefield,

And told the clouds,

Who told the sky,

Who told the stars,

Who told the moon,

Who told the sun,

Who told mankind,

Who grieved,

And did not learn.