Why did I come?

What made me don that blue uniform

and take up arms against another man,

to fight, to kill?

Was it the thrill of adventure,

the excitement of Unity?

I regret it all.

If I could have left after that first battle,

where the river ran red,

and escaped the stench and moans of dying men surrounding me,

would I?

Of course.

What possessed me to lift that cold lump of steel shaped for destruction

in the meadow, watching the men drop like flies around me,

if I was so convinced I would die anyway?

Why delay release from this battlefield,

once a peaceful place among the whispering trees,

now turned into a war zone,

full of death and hopeless, weary men?

How could I know?