Tuesday, 29 October 2013

LEST WE FORGET


The Price of Freedom

I never was a soldier,
so have no tale to tell
of cloying mud and seas of blood
and trenches into hell.

I didn't get the call up,
so how am I to know
of ghosts who stand on scarlet sand
where angels fear to go?

I didn't serve my country,
so missed the pained goodbyes
of men who cried as brothers died
beneath those leaden skies.

I never fought for freedom,
so couldn't understand
the metal rain of searing pain
that ripped across the sand.

I didn't have the calling,
so where do I begin
to understand exploding land
that tears them limb from limb?

I never had to comprehend
the pain of mothers' cries.
The tragic price of devil’s dice
when rolled to see who dies.

So why should I remember?
How could it ever be
that gallant dead, spilled poppy red
and gave their lives for me?

I never was a soldier,
and never went away
like those who tried, and cried, and died,
and marched so I could stay.

K. M.Ashman




















1 comment:

  1. A wonderful poem. The best tribute I have ever read. This still brings a lump to my throat when I read it.

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