In Memory Of All Those Who Gave Their Lives In

World War 1 (WW1)
 
FIELDS OF WAR
Come with me dear friends
To the fields of war,
Where boys dressed as men gave their lives
To a land soaked in horror
To a place where fear turned men into boys
And courage flowed like blood from the bodies
Shattered and torn,
To a place where dying cries were drowned by the
Roar of the big guns 
And bodies hung like dirty laundry upon barbed wire 
A place where a hundred yards cost
Ten thousand lives,
A place where as dawn did rise from fitful night
The whistle called for those to die,
The artist,
The postman,
The coal miner.
And over the top they went,
Their hearts already broken, their bodies soon to be.
When all around did comrades fall
In answer to the machine gun's infernal chatter,
That spoke of death in rapid time, and raked
The lines that went from hell to hell.
Oh, my dear friends,
See man as you've never seen him before,
In grotesque attitudes of death.
Look you upon the names of sorrow
Ypres,
Passchendaele,
Mons,
Vimy Ridge,
Verdun
And countless more and ask but one question,
What point this war?
And when silence finds its grace, it settles
Upon this horrid place;
Where those that lived returned, one by one,
Or carried their injured brothers across the fields
Of mud and flesh, where death had reaped so rich a crop
And where empty eyes recalled
The horrors of all that was done by man to man.
Where the bayonet thrust silenced the life
And anguished cry opened the heart of
The painter 
The milkman,
The labourer.
See the lines of sightless men, hands upon shoulders, the blind
Leading the blind
And look upon those once wholesome boys
Who before were with strong limb and proud poise;
Now they lie upon the stretchers, spaces where limbs did lie.
Look upon the dead,
Fathers, brothers, sons and lovers, no more.
So dear friends, come with me to the fields of war,
To a place of white stones, where men now dead lie on parade.
See how the poppy grows upon this silent land.
Look amidst the shadows,
And see the ghosts that linger in the even' call,
And listen, listen,
To the voices of them all,
And ask yourself, 
What point this war?


Austin Edward (Ferd) ORCHARD

©1995


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Website: copyright Alison Orchard Hammill

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