Mons Star
A chill has settled on the room,
The dark oppressed him like a tomb.
He shivered in the winter air,
Old soldier in a rocking chair.
He ruminated on his life,
Of daughters wed, departed wife,
And darkly handsome brother Tom,
Long since missing on the Somme.
Stern years of carnage, sweat and gore,
Some faded ribbons in a drawer.
Ypres, Loos and Passchendaele,
And few now left to tell the tale.
Vivid memories crowd the mind,
Of Corporal Quinn and Sergeant Hind,
Surveying death’s macabre dance
On blood red poppy fields of France.
Now it seemed a distant dream,
Strange mockery of our maker’s scheme.
He remembered Mons - and courage rare’
But did not see the Angels there.
Flickering memories will abound,
Until his own Last Post does sound,
Will there be any left who care,
Old soldier in your rocking chair?