So It’s No more to the Trenches with the Mud-Sodden ground,
The Playing Field of Nations was but death that we found.
The fearful Whistle that summons the fight,
Those shooting white flares that startles the Night.
I’m leaving my Brothers beneath calm foreign skies ,
Under Soil Rich in Valour, in Peace where their lie.
Immortal young Souls of quick Mirth and good Song,
Their Spirts now travel with the days setting Sun.
I’ll be sailing on home from death’s Rolling-Mill,
And Gas Straining Lungs that the Chemists would fill.
Onto Rich covered Meadows and full Forests of green,
The Patchwork of Fields that no Carnage had seen.
And Life giving Corn in place of foul Mud,
To bright Clear Streams unsullied with Blood.
We’ll be riding the Sea upon White Crested foam,
To the Wives and the Mothers that are waiting at Home.
So it’s Goodbye dear Rheims, Picardie and Somme,
The Shell-Blasted Moonscape fierce hatred had done.
And it’s to Hell with the Marching and all that it’s for,
Politicians and Aggressors,
And to Hell with all War.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2024 20:28
- Comment from author about the poem: Written from the View of someone returning home after War. To home and Family and Peace. WW1 always hits home for the terrible lives lost and I like the War Poets.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
Offline)
Comments3
That it does! Last of the classic, “romanticised” historical international hostilities; almost like Song of Roland or Joan of Arc, etc.
As always: Thank you.
A very poignant write. And when they got home many of them would have had ptsd and found it very difficult to get back to civilian life. You remember them and the futility of war. Wonderful write Kevin.
Yes I always Remember them .
Thank you for Reading and your Comment.
I will never forget the sacrifice. Our freedom is because of them.
This poem really resonates with me and i echo the sentiment within it, Very good read, Thank you
Thank you.
You are very welcome
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