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".
Copyright © Mike Miller | Year Posted 2018