War is waiting.

A soldier, boots-on-ground, now,

Waiting to be told, it is time now,

Time to move into a zone of fire,

And use his gun,

And try to stay alive.

His wife, in a house, in the middle

Of the night, a telephone ringing,

That sounds like the bugle they play

At military funerals, because she is here,

At home, waiting to be told, he is dead.

A child standing, there, a house of sand,

With a sheep, and a story, the story

You could never imagine, my husband

Tells me, that boy, waiting,

For the war to be over,

Even though,

He has never known anything else,

Or a child in America,

My child,

Sitting at a kitchen table,


Waiting ten more months,

For his father to come home.

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