In the Atlanta airport as I flew home from AWP were two soldiers returning from Afghanistan for their two-week break: Drew and Marshall.  They looked exhausted, and their eyes looked blown away by what they had been through.  Mainly, what they told me was how poor the people are they had been helping there —how utterly different life is with no electricity and almost no possessions. 

I told them that I would post something for them on my blog.  Here are two poems, one by Siegfried Sassoon and one by Wilfred Owen:

They

 —Siegfried Sassoon

The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back
'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
'In a just cause: they lead the last attack
'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
'New right to breed an honourable race,
'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'

'We're none of us the same!' the boys reply.
'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
'Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
'And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find
'A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.
' And the Bishop said: 'The ways of God are strange!'

As Bronze may be Much Beautified

     —Wilfred Owen

As bronze may be much beautified
By lying in the dark damp soil,
So men who fade in dust of warfare fade
Fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.

Like pearls which noble women wear
And, tarnishing, awhile confide
Unto the old salt sea to feed,
Many return more lustrous than they were.

But what of them buried profound,
Buried where we can no more find.
Who lie dark for ever under abysmal war?

Welcome home, Drew and Marshall. My heart is with you.  I hope things go well for you until you return home for good next year.