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What is this life we suffer so without fault of our own;
For none deserve the pain of loss, nor of a tumour grown?
What is this life we fight to keep as long as we all can,
That wearies us and withers us as part of some cruel plan?
Some died for us who suffer not as we all suffer still,
That we could live a longer life according to our will.
They say Jesus died to save us from our perceived foul sin,
And yet we live through pain and woe trying to be like him.
In the end we droop and fade and crumple into dust,
Regardless of whom we aid and help, of whom we love and trust.
For we as veterans know that death will visit every tree
And visit flowers both young and old, like a lethal bee.
For we who are but flesh and blood with senses that can feel,
But play a game with cards face down that we will never deal.
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