(c) SunShine DixieLand Company 2003
Before the ides of march had
fully come, In the dim and quite
darkness before a damp and
dreary dawn, he came to my
door, a soldier at arms. He
seemed to be a ghostly
apparition from a conflict of the
He introduced himself as a
doughboy. We talked for many
hours about many things; mostly
about things the rest of the world
has seemingly forgotten. He
talked of spring time in Paris,
love and passion, fear, human
degradation, and deplorable
death in the poisonous, hellish
trenches of a place he called the
I was mesmerized, and horrified
by his story; more so, knowing
that it is a true story.
Just before he left, he handed me
a dirty, blood stained, envelope
"Give this to her... Please. "
I assured him that I would.
Just as quickly, and
mysteriously, as he came, he
left. I opened the envelope and
began to read. What he had
written broke my heart. As tears
welled up in my eyes, I
remembered the words of a
much greater poet than I should
ever hope to be;
"Men have died from time to
time, and worms have eaten
them; but not for love."
I wonder about such things...
But I always wonder about such
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