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Upon Foreign Soils
Until I met my untimely end,
I was once like you, my friend:
Hopes for the future and steel-like nerves,
Desires to caress sweet female curves,
And warmth within my heart for those held dear,
It’s maybe tragic I ended up here.
You see something happened, something big,
And like other young men, I’d done as they did,
Before I knew it, service, adventure in a foreign land,
And also King and country helped me hold up my hand,
With vigour I’d marched to the cheer of a crowd,
My family, my friends, everyone proud.
Back then this land was a living hell,
As with wave upon wave, our numbers fell,
War hadn’t been, as I’d first thought,
The greens had turned brown, bodies, skin stretched taut,
With the rats in our trenches, is where I lay,
Praying the sniper’s next shot wasn’t coming my way.
I’d cried, ‘Oh mother dear, why did I come!’
An execution I’d faced, if I’d tried to run,
So many had yearned for the uniform and gun,
And the chance to say they’d killed one of the hun,
By the time I’d realised, it was just too late,
My naivety and romantic notions had sealed my fate,
With puddles that had turned a crimson red,
Bodies lay rotting, uncovered, stone-dead.
As you gaze down upon me now,
Don’t pity my loss or wonder how,
I came to rest upon this soil,
Upon foreign lands on which I’d bitterly toiled,
For it little matters, I came of my own accord,
Not for the promise of glory, gold or bigger reward,
I’d thought eternal youth could never fade,
But it was with my life this soldier paid.
And now I’m here forever more,
So many years have passed since that hellish war,
A land so beautiful and green,
You tread those same fields where in body, I’d once been,
Such sights as I’d seen, no eyes should see again,
I beg of you, don’t let my efforts have been in vain,
Next time you see a poppy blowing in the breeze,
Please think of us, me and my brothers, please.
A poem by Alexandre Jay, (c) 2007 (this image and poem is copy written, and may in no way be used without permission of the author)
Dedicated to those who lost their lives during two world wars.Labels: photography, Poetry