The Soldiers Child
Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies,
The story tellers have known too well
That childhood fades where sorrow lies,
how wind and memory loose their spell.
A soldier stands—he won’t obey,
His counting rhyme still rings of war,
a Conscientious Objector’s way.
his hands have closed the nursery door.
An Elegy Before Death is spun,
An Epitaph upon the stone—
the ink not dry, the tale not done.
his name half-known, his fate alone.
Yet Euclid knows and has seen the grace,
of figs and thistles, kings and beasts,
that shapes the loss, the lines of space,
as the exile’s hunger breaks the feast,
Gazing Upon Him Now, Severe and Dead,
a child’s sorrow, time will not repair.
the world still turns, the prayers are read.
And the lilies bloom in salted air—
WoPoLi 
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