Yonder Mountain Poem by Max Gatrell

Alone he stood on Yonder Mountain,
Grasping victory by the wrist.
He gazed upon his fallen comrades,
Watched their spirits turn to mist.

He wept upon that Yonder Mountain,
Streams of tears engulfed his eyes.
Cried relentless for his brothers,
Sobs obscured by their death sighs.

Although the victory of Yonder Mountain,
Made him proud, beyond compare.
His haughty heart was breached by sorrow,
Pain profound he couldn't bear.

Limbs were lost on Yonder Mountain,
Blades of steel, stained with blood,
Grisly trophies gained from carnage,
Heroes brave entombed in mud.

No solace found on Yonder Mountain,
Or comfort with his winning horde.
Decided then his life was over,
On himself he turned his sword.

A Solemn place is Yonder Mountain,
Filled with sadness, filled with woe.
Slews of soldiers slain in battle,
Bathed in blood the Poppies grow.