I grieve a young soldier I never met From a valley where I rarely go All known of him is from a newspaper That helped paint the color into the familiar lines. Anne was correct in her prophecy from student days That it woud destroy me if I had to see them die.
I came to love them enough though From just learning their stories. To almost freely destroy a career, It required what was probably over identification.
God in great mercy killed the career So I did not have to see them die The death of the career was depression enough From what many surely regarded As only a training accident.
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