The Legionnaire

Deft and dexterous he was in the war

But upon his return, sullen and glum

Fore a piece was missing and in its stead

A thrumming voice from the battle had come

The town of his birth had fallen ill

Powder, smoke and rot in its breeze

Everyday clamour turned to whimper and cries  

As the scavengers feast and then seaward flies 

In stricken panic he stormed to his home

Where the brunt of war had adorned its throne

And amidst the rubble, a delicate hand

A ring round’ its finger, of which he had known

He held her hand with a most tender touch

As he weeped before its stiffened shape

Thrumming, the madness of war made its claim

Fore he pulled and tugged till off it came

At the fetid shore he boarded a skiff

With a pile o’ rope and a bag of cement

The thrumming withheld in a hand so stiff 

And while the sun rose to sea he went… 

 August 5th - 2023