FROMELLES

[Maureen K Clifford]

FROMELLES


A monument stands aloof, distant,
surrounded by gold
of wheat fields swaying in the wind
a story has been told.
They found these five though dozens more
remain, unknown, unseen.
The ones who gave their life to war -
that never ending theme.

And if that all seems distant now
for decades now have passed,
for them the shift of time was slow
since they had breathed their last.
Move forward to the year that’s now
as flags on halyards snap
to attention like ranks of men
whose gloved hands rifles slap.

A sense of friction fills the air
the bugler plays the ode.
The flags are flying at half mast.
We give them what they’re owed.
A headstone with a rank and name,
a nations thanks, respect.
Wreaths of red poppies for each man
after such sad neglect.


Maureen Clifford ©
The Scribbly Bark Poet