Francis Ledwidge Poem by Colm McGuinness

To walk amidst the evening chill

Ledwidge on my mind

Writing verse between the shells

Battle lines opined


The poison haze blights the dawn

Voices trenched and cowering

Far removed from the weaving Boyne

And youthful passions flowering


Thoughts of home and grassy lanes

Delights the pen to write

The horrors of the wailing guns

Confirms the deathly rite


Of noble youth, the richest soil

To nurture old men's wisdom

The harvest of the slaughter fields

The Judas kiss upon them


McDonagh bled, your friend in verse

But rhymes of different hue

Cleared the fog of braided men

And made you dream anew


Until at Ypres, the ending hour

All blackbirds ceased to sing

Your name across the barren meadows

Your soul upon the wing


No summer mirth upon the plain

Nor seasoned fare to cheer

The banquet in its winter gloom

But your wine bereft of fear