Tears From 1914
Fallen boys with white crosses,
your nightmares now peaceful dreams.
Gone the shrapnel, the bullets,
trenches of blood crimson streams.
To earth, condemned, fears of men,
fertile ashes to brave dust.
Rouse from warm brotherly beds,
dear sirs remind us you must.
Listen! Trumpet now calling
by dawn soldier's silhouette.
Heed the Last Post of battle,
forever lest we forget.
Arise ye from deep slumber,
Unknown spirits of unseen.
Weep and we will wipe away
your tears from Nineteen Fourteen.
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(Syllabic' verse with end-rhyme, 14 syllables per line, 7 syllable caesura)
24/04/2014
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