It is not our old we send to war,
those who have lived a thousand lives,
experienced all there is to offer,
soared on wings or plumbed the depths,
taken life by the hand and shook it firmly.
It is our young.
Lives so full of promise,
the potential as of yet unknown.
And still we send them.
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We send them, and they will go. For duty, honor, country and kin, fear of the Government who wields the sword, yet they go. If there is a special condition regarding entry into Heaven or Hell, I have to believe that a soldier who commits no personal evil on the battlefield, but does his duty and dies, ought to find a special place in Paradise. Thank you for this poem, Queen Monster.
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