I wrote this when I went on a school trip to Belgium. We went to Tyncot Cemetery where thousands of fallen soilders are buried. This cemetery, is also the resting place of the youngest soilder ever to be killed in WW2. He was just 14. He lied about being 18 in order to join. I sat by this boys grave for hours and this poem just came to me. Of course I do not know anything about his life but this is what I imagine his story to be.