The Children of Soldiers

We’re of a different breed, you and I.
You don’t believe me? Then think on this:
Without our permission, we’re uprooted,
Away from friends and familiar places
And planted in a spot, possibly on foreign soil,
That is unknown to us.
From there, it’s sink or swim.
Make a friend fast
Or be caught up  in the tide misery.
Of course, you must keep in mind,
You new friend probably will be leaving in a year or so.
So there’s no room for prejudice,
No room for hate,
No room for anything to getting the way of fast friendship.
There’s no time for arguments,
No time for mistakes,
Not time to do anything you’d regret.
So tell me, do you understand now?
We are a by-product of the military,
We are the Children of Soldiers.