I see this piece, written a few years ago, as my gift to Memorial Day. It could be any soldier in any war, always too young to die.
© 2016 Barbara Grace Lake
The minister told of his life
His barely eighteen years of life
The casket closed, his body ripped
A valiant soldier he, life shorn
Two years before and for three years
In Little League, my own son’s team
A flawless fielder, playing fair
He gave no quarter, asked for none
So when the summons came he went
To fight or perish far from home
To slay an enemy unknown
He served his country well, and died.
And now we put his casket down
Three shots. Each echo in my head
Three shots convulse the morning air
My choking, sobbing tears won’t stop
It’s not enough. He gave his life
Three shots and taps and folded flag
In two more years he could be mine
My God, too young…too young to die.