His eyes are closed and a tear runs down his cheek It gathers in the filth on his face makes soft mud there His rifle leans against his left shoulder butt to the ground its bayonet gleaming hard and steel through the liquid red of new blood running running down to stain the gray cloak of his uniform His eyes open and he looks down and down upon the body of his just-slain enemy Blue material absorbs and hides the blood much better he thinks laughs hysterically He reaches inside the shirt of the dead soldier searching sobbing and there he finds a large red paper heart adorned with real lace and fine spun glass His weeping is absolute now He falls to his knees eyes to the sky beseeching God He reaches inside his own vest discovers his own mortal wound In each of his hands now he holds a large paper heart white lace fine spun glass and blood fresh of nation He sees the inscription on each identical: "My dearest Johnny" He bends down low cries out in his pain looks into the dead eyes of his enemy vanquished face to face moaning live lips to dead lips Death's embrace he cries dies copyright Thomas Paul {WORDWULF} SternerHowe