I nightmared many hours
until I call days nights as well.
The story never ends.

A widower,
a little boy
drowning in his blood.
He keeps on telling me
the loss of his son.

He sits quietly, digging
the earth with his sad eyes,
searching for his lost treasure.

"The soldier,"
he tearily chokes,
"so sad, he was just
as old as my son,
and just
as scared."

Marjon van Bruggen.