Scattered ruins crunched under our steel-toed boots,
Marching over what leftover lives yet remained.
Final battle won, the streets looked a jolly red,
The grey concrete now forever stained.
Us soldiers that were left gathered round that night
- For this battle had fallen on Easter Sunday’s morn -
We said our prayers and had a grand feast,
With smoke from flaming pyres to adorn.
The thrill of our victory hung clearly in the air,
Surely the Axis powers would soon withdraw,
Thousands, including I, would return home -
My only regret that I had escaped Death’s maw.
With the war all but won, what was I to do?
Go back to the States, continue my youth?
Wasn’t much to be said about that sad affair -
I’d long been detached from living, in truth.
Following commands, no will of my own.
My being drafted into the European War
Was the first act to grant purpose to my life,
The one which I had no use for.
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