Stevie Turner has written a poem to tribute to the the young who died in World War I… poignant and compassionate.
I’ve been re-reading those wonderful war poets’ words which Sally at Smorgasbord has been publishing. Today on Armistice Day I thought I’d write my own poem in tribute to the fallen:
Eighteen in 1918, by Stevie Turner
His brand new uniform
Is spattered with blood
As he lies face down
In Flanders’ mud.
Only eighteen years for his life to fail,
Mud dries under his fingernails.
Somewhere a mother knows her son has gone
And wonders how she will carry on.
Father said he’d be a man
And waved him off to wield a gun.
Their boy/man tried to act so tough
But his will to fight wasn’t strong enough.
He would have rather been a painter
A writer, a poet, or an entertainer.
Anything but face the hell
Of trenches, gas and the sound of shells.
His girlfriend holds a lamp of hope
For the love of her life…
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