I write to you now, mother.
Behind enemy lines,
Speaking German fluently, without a sense of disgust
Yet they have found me,
Captured
Brutally tortured.
Yet mother, have no fear or grief in your wrinkled pale heart.
Although I may have a unfamiliar rendezvous with Death,
Believe me when I say,
I die happy to serve my King and Country.
I suppress my emotions
Deeply.
Unflinching to let them see.
Whip.

I don’t think I can die in dignity, mother.
I cry. I feel
Absolutely naked.
Stripped bare.
I shall never die happy and contented like
What the rest say.
I die vengeful,
But you shan’t know this, mother.
Never.
I am no noble soldier.
No haughty embrace of martyrdom shall
Meet me in heaven.
I have pleaded
Begged
Cried like a child that has had their
Candy stolen from them.
I have no pride whatever to speak of.

And, now mother.
It shall start,
The silent courtship of death
As they strapped me tightly to the pole
Stained with blood of the many
Noble soldiers that have sang their last hymn,
Said their last prayer.
Screamed inwardly as the bullet
Drove right through their
Flesh.
I sing alone a quiet church hymn
Yet I am still
Deemed to die a dishonored traitor.
But England shan’t know this.
Now the king will sign the letter
About how he will send his
Deepest condolences to you.
And how he admired me courage
Strength and determination.
Patriotism.
I possess none of these.
How odd no one can see through me
Like this.
Except the enemy.
I think distinctly strange thoughts
As finches sing my requiem.
I see Death’s darkening face.
I feel not fear.
I see you mother.
Are you death?

_{And the German soldiers, took aim.}