I Knew a Man Who Went to War

I knew a man who went to war,
he knew what life was for.
He maintained his passion, his hobby,
while all around him was falling apart.
Keeping his sanity that was his art.
Catching bugs, butterflies, and moths.
Cigarettes, naphthalene, coffee and coughs;
late into the night with a hurricane light
he held his entomological interest tight.

I knew a man who went to war,
he knew what life was for,
He sent insects home from faraway places.
A wife hoping for exotic spices and laces
got strange insects with desiccated faces.
She kept her council as she must,
and in God she would trust;
knowing this hobby, his shield,
would protect him in the field.

I knew a man who went to war,
he knew what life was for.
A story about this man I know,
happened near a place called Anzio.
Upon such stories legends are built,
such stories offer the human tilt;
it may not be true but does not matter,
I want it to be true and it wouldn't flatter.
First ashore not because he was brave,
just for insects he could catch and save.

I knew a man who went to war,
he knew what life was for.
But we will never know
the man first ashore at Anzio;
local papers painted a hero,
but I suspect, as I reflect,
he was more akin to Nero.
All insects that crept, flew or walked,
to catch them all he never baulked.