To Our War Dead Poem by Tom Billsborough
To Our War Dead
Machine guns speak with eloquence,
A terrifying chatter,
And rape brave men of their defence
As bullets bite and splatter.
Bullets that he did not see
Or hear, his mouth agape
At Death's surprising silence.
And so they lie in squadrons still
Arranged in perfect files.
Disturbance is when poppies bloom
And here they bloomed for miles
Like wounds upon the one who falls
And shall indeed remain there
Till the last post calls..
To call this beautiful may seem to be a wrong word to say. But this poem is beautiful to me. Its beauty is in its raw pain, in its love and sorrow for those soldiers who braved death day after day. minute after minute, and now lay in a line row after row like they once did when alive and called to attention. .Impressive, powerful, and full of respect and love. Thank you for sharing this. 10++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++= and onto my fav list
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 5:52:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
line 8: i say " lie" i don't know what last post means. but to MyPoemList; i like it bri :)
Hi Bri, Last post is the bugle call played when a soldier is laid to rest. Lie.. It's that ruddy Gladys again. Ta.. I'll amend it!