Tuesday, April 8, 2014


A soldier of The Great War

I was a soldier once 
Now a bright white stone
I was a squaddie
Marching in step
Now I stand in line
Straight serried rank
I was a village lad
Laughing with the boys
Having a harvest beer
Now I stand forever
With my mates
No beer no harvest
Only the reaping of the dead
A generation cropped
Short before its bloom

Martin Swords
March 2014

No comments :