Misty pines of dread-swept morn,
Sing no bird, nests to lorn.
Acres left bare, no crop to share,
Silence then, was born.
Blackened pitch of boots run dry,
Along this path our mothers cry.
Terrible fear, they must adhere,
Frightened so, to try.
Faded corners of earth unclaimed,
Yet be sundered by beasts untamed.
Father's loss, sacred cross,
Blessed be, much unnamed.
Vengeful ghosts of soldier's passed,
May the Maker deem you fast.
Sing no bird, sound no dird,
Tell them, "Advance last."
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Author:
Nicholas Browning (
Offline) - Published: April 13th, 2018 03:38
- Comment from author about the poem: Well hello there friends, good to see you! Here you will find some Old English inspired mumbo jumbo. Please tell me what vision you had from reading this! It would be much appreciated. Anyways, thanks for stopping by!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 65
Offline)
Comments2
War
I got that vibe too. Thanks for the read, and for stopping by.
First verse I thought it was going to be about logging... by the end I saw Ypres.
Haha. Well said sir. Thank you for the comment.
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