I left the seeds of someone’s death behind me in an open field,
A dozen silent limpet mines
by freshly planted grass concealed.
I waited for that unknown foe
to leave their unknown home and base,
To march upon this open field
and meet the Reaper face-to-face;
And somewhere in an unknown land, an unknown boy about my age,
Packed plenty socks and underwear to cloth him on that violent stage;
He waved to all he loved good-bye and smiling then turned to depart,
Not knowing on which foreign field his fragile life would blow apart.
I never met my deadly foe,
I never saw his frightened eyes,
I never had the chance to see
that one I’d so learned to despise:
I wonder if he thought of me
while blundering to meet his fate,
I wonder if he too was filled
with someone else’s senseless hate.