“What do I know about war?” said the young man to his fathernthe day before he went off to fightn“How can you be so sure?” said the young man to his lovernas he held her close that nightnnhe said “While I’m gone will you be waiting?nNo one knows the state I’m in.nPoint me in the right direction.”nn“I shot a man today,” wrote the soldier in his lettern“and I held his hand as he died.nI shouldn’t feel ashamed, But he deserved much better.nThey say it gets easier with time.”nnHe said “I’ll be back before the winternBattlefields are not my fatenPoint me in the right directionnnIts not too late, for menToo late, for menTo wonder,n“Why is this happeningnlives are shattering,nand I am to blame.”nn“I can’t believe I’m home.” Said the soldier to his mothernBut she could not hear him through the tearsnShe said “What happened to the little boy who left us last September?nThis face looks aged beyond its years”nnHe said “enemies are not the answer,nNo one knows the state I’m innPoint me in the right direction.”nn“what did I learn about war?” said the soldier to a mirrornas he watched his innocence fadenhe said “the fighting has not ended, bombs are still droppingnand I can’t see the difference that they’ve made