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Fires of Driftwood

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<h3 id="The_Reasons">The Reasons</h3> THEY sat before a dugout In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns. And one said: “Now that it’s over What about a bit of truth? Let us say why we came to fight— No frills— You first, old Fire-eater!”— One with a whimsical face spoke freely; “I?—I sought some stir, Some urge in living, Some sense in dying. I sought a mountain top With a view!” “And the answer?” “I have seen others find What I sought.” . . . . . . . “I don’t know that it’s anyone’s business Why I came,” (Another spoke as if unwillingly), “A girl laughed, I think— Funny?—Yes, funny as hell!”— . . . . . . . His neighbor said, “I was a business man, No sentiment,  Nothing of that kind,— But the band played And, suddenly, I saw My country, A woman, with hands outstretched, Her back to the wall—” “U—um,” they nodded, “She’s got a pull, That old lady.” . . . . . . . “As for me,” the speaker was abrupt, “I was afraid! I saw pictures, I heard things— I couldn’t sleep For the Beast that was abroad— Fear! That’s what brought me!” . . . . . . . They sat silent for a moment In the sun. Then an older man said briefly, “We were all afraid . . . . . . . . But what of hate? Did no one come because of hate?”       . . . . . . “Yes—I”— They looked at this man Curiously,  But he added nothing, And no one questioned. . . . . . . . A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly; “Our family are all Army people— So, of course— And it’s all over now. We got through. But it was a near thing— What?”  <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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