poem to remember those who fought in World War 1


‘A little girl’s smile’

In the stench of the trench
with rats and scraps and ankle-deep mud,
he stood, tense,
bayonet ready for blood.

His wife’s eyes, wide and blue
shone on his daughter’s sad smile.
The whistle blew.

In a sea of serge he rose,
Scrambling over damning
mounds of lost souls.

The ghosts of folk at home
whirled and swirled as he choked
in the battle-torn smoke.

He heard the whisper of an angel .
He felt the smack of a black shroud
smothering him as he lay
dying in agonizing pain.
Will we remember him?
Perhaps for a while,
but what we will always recall
is that little girl’s sad, sad smile.

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