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I wrote this poem while in a hospital in Scotland about a shipmate who wondered if any one really cared if he lost his life. 

               WHO CARES  ?


In this gun tub I sit waist deep in snow,

Which once was white – but now is red,

With a shipmate’s body that I now hold,

Once filled with life – but now is dead.


While he lay in this snowy bed,

I felt he realized he soon would be dead,

Because he motioned me closer to his head,

So I might hear the last two words he said -----------“WHO CARES?”


Later when they laid him at my feet,

And I covered his body with a sheet,

And when we slipped him off into the deep,

His burning words in my ears seemed to repeat  -----“WHO CARES?”


As I stood and watched his body disappear,

This shipmate that I held in my arms so dear,

The sacrifice he made will remain forever clear,

He had given his life, yet he wanted to hear ----------- “WHO CARES?”


Now after all these years, I look back to that day,

And since that occasion, now when I pray,

I thank God, who allowed him those few seconds to stay,

In my arms, so he could hear me say ---------------------“WHO CARES?”


by Richard Lowe



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