Wind through her hair
She comes with a message
Hope on the wing
How can i Sojourn ?
We trod the Duckboards
dancing in the wind
and laughing in the rain
November is dead
old sailors have said
The Children have hardened
They pierce the night
After such a voyage
How can we generate hope
He'd been out of the line
For his Blighty leave
And had marched up
To the duckboards
But before he could
Start the last trudge forward
He need a cigarette
So he propped on his rifle
And tried to roll one out
But his hands were shaking
So much he couldn't get it done
So he picked himself up
And went forward anyway.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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