I climb a barren hill and ponder
over my folk at home, thinking
of my father
how he will be wondering about me
saying to everyone he meets,
" My boy is away at the war
with little rest by day or night I hope
he takes care of himself, and
is back soon. Can't get him
out of my mind; "
then of my mother and of what
she will be saying —
" My child is a soldier now — no sleep
day or night; oh, that he
would take care and come
home, not leaving his body
in such far places; "

then I climb further
and think of my brother
how he will be explaining
" My brother is away fighting,
struggling day and night; he must
return to us, alive "