A nameless soldier.

“I wanted to sing a song
for a body I saw
and without a name

but clearly someone young
who had not yet lived his life
and never would
How shall I do this?

What kind of song
would serve such a purpose?
This poem may never end,
for what answer does it have
for anyone
in this distant,
comfortable country,
simply looking on?

Clearly he had a weapon in his hands.
I think
he could have been no more than twenty.

I think, whoever he was,
of whatever country,
he might have been my brother
were the world different.

I think
he would have not been lying there,
were the world different…”
–Mary Oliver


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