Robin's Retreat Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

He staggered, stumbled, struggled onward,
Strapped arm pulsing, burning, raw.
Matted, sweat-caked, reeling, lurching,
Clothing rank and tunic gore.

He fell again, half-sobbing lay there,
Fingers clawing leaves and mud,
Found a branch and grunted upright,
Shufffled gasping through the wood.

At times, the men he'd just left empty
Rushed him, grim-faced, black knives drawn.
Cursing, shouting, flailing weakly,
Phantom soldiers smoke was shorn.

But each time left him further deathly,
Drunken vision tunnelled more.
Ringing clamoured, thought recoiled as
Once again he hit the floor.

Moonless, furtive three were poaching,
Guarded, found the man near gone.
One's quick fingers started working,
One ran home, and one for John.