When I was in Combat in WWII, my Dad sent me the following poem, expressing some of his terror.
A Parent is Apart From the World
By Philip Joseph Greayer, 1944
Your parents will never harm you
Nor cause the slightest hurt
Your home is a haven
Where come right or wrong
There's always a refuge
For you my dear son
And if in your absence
You've veered from the right
Come home my son
And together we'll fight.
It is not what I'd wish of course
But if it should be
That you must hurt someone
Then let it be me
We know an army of boys
Will fight better than men
They are less advanced
On the civilized road
So turning them back
Is much easier then.
When you went away to fight
And left us "so alone"
I cried throughout the night
For my boy to come home
And when home you came at last
As I thought, to stay
Soon you were fretting
To be off and away
To be roving and roaming
Anywhere,- but here.
It's not you that I blame
'Tis the evil of war
Which casteth out love
While it casteth out fear
And then it was over
What wrongs you have done
Should be paid by the nation
And not charged to you, my son
For they made you fight
While you were yet a boy.
Your young mind was warped
By the National greed
Who bade you to march
And to fly and to heed
You were not taught as a boy
to be just a military toy
But I too have sought
With the rest of the greedy
So it ill becomes me
To be sore at the needy
