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Poem

Today once more on this old seat
I mused amongst woodlands deplete 
of leaves where Autumn acts the churl,
watched winter smoke’s caress unfurl

Like ghosts that rose to touch the sky,
spirits of men destined to die
who could not know the coming trial
in wars defile their lives made vile.

They worked within a fine landscape ,
grew pineapples and purple grapes,
they knew the soil and practised skill
to crop and nurture nature’s will.

And then beyond enclosing walls
they heard the distant bugle’s call,
it sang adventure far from home
a promise of the world to roam.

"With friends come march to distant lands
as part of those heroic bands,
for country, duty, to be men",
it could not tell of horrors ken.

It did not tell of trench and mud,
of fear and death’s hand drenched in blood,
of bomb and bullet, gassed and blind,
each day expecting end of time.

A war unknown through all before,
destructions scale immense in gore
where fragile man was torn apart
by shell and steal thrust to the heart.
 
Epilogue

A fevered soldier, shivering cold,
his rain drenched coat around him folds,
with feet diseased by constant wet
in fitful sleep he moans and frets.

In reveries sweet garden green,
with orchards there the fruit to glean,
the crop of life’s productive hours
combined to foster nature’s powers.

Here warmth is blessing all the earth,
his wife and children give life woth,
so happy in a golden world
in distant Heligans arms enfurled.
 
The mine that took his life away
as in the slime wet trench he lay
buried him deep within the ground
so earthly guise never more found.

Absolved his spirit now can be,
once more old paths to wander free,
a place where hearts will sense his roam,
the Heligan gardeners home.

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