My Words (A collection of poems)

World War One Tribute

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields th poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you with failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields

How To Die by Siegfried Sassoon

Dark clouds are smoldering into red

While in the craters morning burns.

The dying soldier shifts his head 

To watch the glory that returns;

He lifts his fingers towards the skies

Wher holy brightness breaks in flame;

Radiance reflected in his eyes, 

And on his lips a whispered name.

You'd think, to hear some people talk,

That lads go West with sobs and curses,

And sullen faces white as chalk,

Hankering for wreathes and tombs and hearses.

But they've been taught the way to do it

Like Christian soldiers; not with haste

And shuddering groans; but passing through it

With due regard for decent taste.

Suicide in the Trenches by Siegfried Sasson

I knew a simple soldier boy

Who grinned at life in empty joy,

Slept soundly through the lonesome dark'

And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,

With crumps and lice and lack of rum,

He put a bullet through his brain.

No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye

Who cheer when soldier lads march by,

Go home and pray you'll never know

The hell where youth and laughter go.

The Cherry Trees by Edward Thomas

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,

On the old road where all that passed are dead,

Thier petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding

This early May morn when there are none to be wed.