In an old book of scraps From my teenage years A newspaper photo Rekindles my fears A man holds a gun To the head of another Seconds from death The son of some mother The man with the gun Is deluded by war The general of police An upholder of law He presses the trigger And puts out a life Does he return To a lover or wife? The general believes That he’s done nothing wrong This man killed Americans This dead Viet Cong But the general’s a killer The kind to abhor I’ll never believe There’s justice in war. © Jim Low - October 2007
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