The Messenger Poem by Mark Christmas

A young lad came,
knocked the door with a tap,
he stood and he waited
in blue jacket and cap.

His attire was edged
with scarlet red trim,
from the seams of trousers,
to his cap and it’s brim.

The lad stood and watched,
as the door opened wide,
it was Jack Starling’s Mother,
who beckoned inside.

They walked to the kitchen,
she was packing a box,
with chocolate and fags
and two pairs of new socks.

“These ‘ere are for Jack,
I’ll not be a mo, ”
she said as she scurried
here, there, to and fro.

“Would you like some tea? ”
asked old Mrs Starling,
and “What is the message?
Pass it here, little darling.”

The boy’s face looked solemn,
he passed her the letter,
“Is it news from the ‘Front’,
is the war getting better? ”

But there’s only one news
that the young boy delivered,
the old woman stood,
her whole body quivered.

I’m sure that you gather
what news she received,
was the war getting better?
Well don’t be deceived.

She thanked the young lad
and gave him a bob,
“It’s all not your fault,
you just do your job.”

He thanked Mrs Starling,
the tenth one today,
he then tipped his cap
and went on his way.

But he turned as he walked
through the old wooden gate,
he said, “Mrs Starling,
I hope I’m not late.

I’m joining the army,
tomorrow I’m gone,
there’s a new battle looming,

near a river called Somme.”