A poem about a soldier dying after a battle.

Mortally wounded, he lies in the dirt,
surrounded by the dead and the dying.
His blood flows warm; his wounds hurt.
He hears other men praying and crying.

The afternoon sun fades; soon it’ll be night.
Bravely onto this field his unit had marched.
He wonders which side has won today’s fight.
How he’d like a drink! His throat is parched.

He thinks of how fiercely he fought, of his kills.
He wonders what that matters now he’s dead.
Who saw, who’ll remember his fighting skills?
Will he be thought a hero, or foolish instead?

When his name is found among those killed
on the casualty list posted in his home town,
will his countrymen’s hearts all be filled
with admiration or will apathy abound?

The end grows near; it’s hard to think clearly.
Regrets come…he’ll never again see his wife
and children. He loves them all so dearly!
May each have a happy and successful life.

Loving thoughts of his family fill his mind
as his body shakes with his death rattle.
He joins those noblest among Mankind --
soldiers who die honorably in battle.