Across the field.

A poem for World War I

Across the field

 

Across the field lay blood and carnage,

A man in deep sleep stirs in rage,

The dying men, screaming words of promise,

The churning of guns turned out to be their demise.

 

Before the final gasp that escapes the man's mouth,

He calls to his captain, who lived by the south,

He tells him, to send these messages abroad,

To his family and those he ignored.

 

A family sits at home, hoping, waiting,

That one day Dad will come back from battle,

And return to his place, on the horse's saddle.