They stand like soldiers fall like toys they march like men and die like boys. They are my brothers were your sons would be our husbands if not for guns. I watch them go we watch them leave and when they're gone I cannot grieve. The tears I thought would flow and flow have dried to salt and froze to snow. I wear the shirt that has his smell and hear him calling me from hell. I do not know this war, whose choosing I only know that we're all losing.