The Whistling Soldier

A soldier that served in the last Great War Is remembered in stone and in wood, One of thousands who died and had to endure What no man ever should. A soldier that answered his nations call And fought that we might be free, Signed up in the summer, sailed in the fall, Leaving home and family. The parting was painful, the night was clear, When his regiment boarded ship. He kissed his wife and held her near In an unrelenting grip. Above them shone a brilliant moon, Like a pearl in the pool of the night. The soldier whistled a lonesome tune As his homeland slipped from sight. No more than an hour of the journey completed, The engines fell silent below. In seconds a submarine had meted A fiery, final blow. The vessel, now a mangled wreck, Leant to its starboard side. Every man on the twisted deck, Fought to get the lifeboats untied. Some jumped overboard, as the ship sank fast, Amidst burning and floating debris. The whistling soldier breathed his last, As he slipped “neath the pitiless sea. A monument stands to honour those Who perished in their prime A field of crosses stand in rows Like sentinels to a shrine. It stands on a hillside Overlooked by pine trees That rustle and whistle In the warm offshore breeze. A widow returns to remember the soldier She lost many years before, And whispers, as her children hold her, "Let there be no more war".