A Field

RichieO on Thu Nov 19 2015, 09:11

A Field

These fields of green do bloom again,
These fields of green have peace again.

Over the years they have shed their remains,
The forgotten, the lost and the suffering pain.

The morning sun rises from the east,
Dances lightly over the morning dew.

I watch this new day spread across this field,
Wondering what these hours will bring.

Across this field is my enemy waiting to see,
Frighten, cold and wet to see this day's end.

This field of green is in my dream,
For I am In this trench awaiting my fate.

For this field is not so green,
just a desolate field of death and destruction.

Our fate awaits us upon this day
while we wait to live or die.
Will I not see this field become green again?

Will I die at the sound of the whistle
as l go over the top again.
For this is the eleventh day of the eleventh month
in the year our Lord of 1918.

This day at eleven of the clock
Will silence the guns and turn,
this field to green again.

RichieO 2015

BC Williams on Sun Nov 29 2015, 20:42

Nice work Rich! War is a terrible thing that strips away the color of one's soul. Thanks for sharing your piece ... bev

A Field

A Field

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