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Dear Mrs.Smith....or Jones....What was his name?
Too many letters I've had to write
until it seems they're all the same.
Oh Yeah! Mrs. Tandy, yeah that's right.

Another kid in my command,
Another name on that dread roll,
Another's blood staining the sand,
Another number added to the toll.

"he was a bright courageous man,
a friend to all who, chance, knew him
He dis and gave all a man can...."
I dare not describe his death, too grim.

God I'm tired in both body and mind
yet duty requires this much at least...
"He was unafraid of being kind.
I'm glad to count him as a friend...."

I dry my eyes from too much...dust.
i sigh and put pencil aside.
what words could this mere mortal write?
I'm not really a man of words
hell, I'm a carpenter back in the world.

"I share your sorrow for your loss......"
Nobody said it'd be this hard
I Hate This Job.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
I understand that it was/is the job of a commander to write letters of condolence to the mothers or wives of men killed in his command. I tried to imagine what that must be like.........
Editing stage: 


I enjoyed the read. a nicely done narrative.


The most powerful reaction
of mind on mind
is transference of sight

Another venture into the new "morphing" form I've been working on for a while.......stan

author comment

as old as the history of man, somebody has to inform the family. How could that be an easy job ever?
After awhile i guess those who have that task handle it somehow...
But the poem, albeit formalist and a bit antique, has the message which is always true, and the writing is even and controlled like a good artist can make a drawing out of pen and ink.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Yes, to have to inform loved ones of ever increasing numbers of casualties under one's command must have been heart rending........stan

author comment
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