Front Line First Time Round - Poem by Margaret Kollmer
Aurora weeps and rockets wail
across a wounded orange-peel sky.
Weaving some wanton fabric
for a weary man-child's shroud?
Bloodless hands raise rifle
while nevoid eyes take aim -
and caught in grief he sobs
as red beret falls to ground.
'Abba! ... Abba!
And a long-drawn sigh seeps out
over muddied boot
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