Some Lost Pierre 1917

Terry Collett

Was he some lost Pierre

that dead French soldier

lying there? Others too you

 

trudged past, back up to

the line, but he lies in that

awkward pose as if death

 

had taken him so swift he

had no time to fall in some

measured place, but lies

 

one arm up as if to shield,

the other arm beneath in

this blood muddied field.

 

You wonder who waits for

him at home. Mother, sister,

father, brother, wife or lover?

 

All maybe in some place by

some fire, drinking or eating,

musing on him, unaware he

 

lies dead in that awkward pose,

in this war damaged field, far

from warmth or love or life

 

and war's strife. Move on up

the line, the sergeant calls.

You move on in steady pace

 

with rifle and pack. You look

ahead warily where guns

sound; and not look back.

  • Author: Terry Collett (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 12th, 2017 07:02
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 32
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors




To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.