A pup in a mug
or a hug in a cup?
What’s up?
Who’s down?
Smile or frown?
Tragedian or clown?
Country or town?
War or peace?
Let war cease!
Tension release
and…
calm.
By the Book (sic)
By the Book (sic)
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Tag Archives: #War
Red
In red we march
towards the foe
how do we not know
that red is so—
why not be a shade unseen
in livery of forest green?
.
Red we wear,
in red, beware!
It’s red! Beware of the red! They said, they said,
they said, beware the red –
and then ‘they’ saw,
and I was dead,
and I was dead.
.
In red we march
towards the foe;
to death we go,
to death we go.
We counted them out
We counted them out,
and we counted them in,
there were fewer came back,
and they cried ‘Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a degree of sorrow;
‘But, we are bound to win tomorrow’.
So, we counted them out,
and we counted them in,
still fewer came back,
and they asked ‘Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a soupçon of sorrow,
‘But, we’ll probably win tomorrow.’
So, we counted them out,
and we counted them in,
just a handful came back,
and they asked, Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a small pinch of sorrow,
Though we’re quite likely to win on the morrow.’
Then we counted them out,
and we counted him in,
a dusty young lad from the Farthings,
and he asked, ‘Did I win?’
‘Not today’. we admitted,
with a tear in one eye,
‘But tomorrow is another day,
in which you can try’.
We counted him out…
Mama’s Little Soldier
Mama’s Little Soldier
Mama’s little soldier
went off to the war,
though he didn’t really know
what he was fighting for;
and when he came back,
he was in a box,
Mama visits him on Sundays,
and irons his socks.
War 4
War 4
The moans of the dead
lay all about me,
for they were truly dead –
even those still dying.
The pitiful wail
of a thousand corpses
accompanied their souls skyward;
or departed in opposition.
The reek of fatality,
futility,
assailed my senses;
climbed over my fallen defences
and conquered my undefended keep:
now, and forever, shall I weep.
Somewhere in Belgium
Well, I made it through another day
(Not everyone did)
And now can dream again
Of getting back to you
(And our kid).
The fighting over for now
(At least the main stuff)
Just need to avoid the snipers’ shot
And remember to tread carefully
(Not let down my guard)
Or I shall end up like Wilkins and Cope
Decomposing; their letters home at an end.
It’s nearly Christmas
And all this will be over
(My love, my friend)
And we shall be back in each-other’s arms
Safe again.
Yours always,
W.S. (Bill to you)
Somewhere in Belgium,
Nov 22nd, 1914
Posted in Belgium, Letter Home, The Great War, WW1, Ypres
Tagged #Belgium, #letters, #love, #War, #WorldWarOne
Graeme Sandford 