I see you still,
dim, yes,
but always beautiful
and serene
in your starched uniform
that was the source of our
family and national pride.
I see you as an effigy now,
for that is all that
is left of your smile
and your unkempt
flow of amber hair
that drove me mad
but now drives me to tears.
Let me look at you
in your muddied grave,
with your eyes blue as
the summer sky
over the Isle
where you lived passionately
and dreamed of days
beyond the war.
“The Empire needs you!”
was the call,
and so you did your duty
like all the men that
keep you company
in your eternal bed.
O yes, I see you still,
an apparition from
my past and the future;
and you haunt me
in your whispering call
that says forlorn:
“No more! No more!
The guns! The stench!
No more of God , King
and blood England!
No more of being sold
as meat on the
general’s table!”
No more is the call.
I hear you, my darling,
and see your plea
in the dimness of the
cold winter light of
the Somme’s dreadful doom.
18/2/2017