Across the bridge over the stream
then down the path to the sea shore.
Where I was wont to sit and dream.
When I was young before the war.
My country called and I obeyed.
I joined the ranks of fighting men.
Although I would have rather stayed.
I thought I’d soon be home again.
I did not know that I would die
along with many thousands more
Who lie beneath a foreign sky.
Far from their home for evermore.
I lay and bled amongst the dead
and as my life blood drained away
I wished that I could be instead
back home dreaming beside the bay.
The path way leading to the sea
The wooden bridge across the stream.
I seemed to see them vividly.
A dying soldier’s final dream.
Thursday,11 February 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good poem, Ivor! Best wishes, John.