A Poem by Father Charles Fink
I've played a lot of roles in life; I've met a lot of men.
I've done some things I'd like to think I wouldn't do again.
And though I'm young, I'm old enough to know someday I'll
die,
And to think what lies beyond, beside whom I would lie.
Perhaps it doesn't matter much; still, if I had my choice,
I'd want a grave 'mongst soldiers when at last death quells
my voice.
I'm sick of the hypocrisy of lectures of the wise.
I'll take the man, with all the flaws, who goes, though
scared, and dies.
The troops I knew were commonplace, they didn't want the war
They fought because their fathers and their fathers had
before.
They cursed and killed and wept...God knows they're easy to
deride,
But bury me with men like these, they faced the guns and
died.
It's funny when you think of it, the way we got along.
We'd come from different worlds to live in one where no one
belongs.
I didn't even like them all; I'm sure they would all agree.
Yet I would give my life for them, I know some did for me.
So bury me with soldiers, please, though much maligned they
be.
Yes, bury me with soldiers, for I miss their company.
We'll not soon see their likes again; we've had our fill of
war.
But bury me with men like them ‘til someone else does more.
Prayer for our Soldiers
