On The Somme Poem by Esther Barry

The noise of the battle is over
And silence descends on the land
There's peace on the face of that soldier
We see lying there on the sand
No sound from those pale lips are uttered,
Or flicker from eyelids half-closed,
Blonde hair blowing soft in the chill wind
As if for a painting, he'd posed,
Where did you come from young soldier?
Who waited for you to come home
From the war to end wars? as they promised
Back to land from which you'd ne'er roam.
Perhaps there's a letter you cherished
In the pocket right next to your heart.
And a photo you gazed at with longing
So often since you were apart.
It was on the TV that we saw you
With an old man, who cried bitter tears
As he spoke of the comrades he'd lost there,
And the mud, and the pain, and the fears.
It's many long years since you fell there
But the world's never stopped talking 'bomb'
We haven't learnt much in between , lad,
Poor handsome young man on the Somme.