The Song Was Wordless; The Singing Will

I Am A Soldier, Convinced That I Am Acting On Behalf Of Soldiers.

But I've Grown Thoughtful Now. And You Have Lost Your Early-morning Freshness Of Surprise At Being So Utterly Mine: You've Learned To Fear The Gloomy, Stricken Places In My Soul, And The Occasional Ghosts That Haunt My Gaze.

How Innocent Were These Trees, That In Mist-green May, Blown By A Prospering Breeze, Stood Garlanded And Gay; Who Now In Sundown Glow Of Serious Colour Clad Confront Me With Their Show As Though Resigned And Sad, Trees, Who Unwhispering Stand Umber, Bronze, Gold; Pavilioning The Land For One Grown Tired And Old; Elm, Chestnut, Aspen And Pine, I Am Merged In You, Who Tell Once More In Tones Of Time, Your Foliaged Farewell.

Mud And Rain And Wretchedness And Blood. Why Should Jolly Soldier-boys Complain? God Made These Before The Roofless Flood - Mud And Rain.

The Fact Is That Five Years Ago I Was, As Near As Possible, A Different Person To What I Am Tonight. I, As I Am Now, Didn't Exist At All. Will The Same Thing Happen In The Next Five Years? I Hope So.