I bought a book from a shop in town, an old antique very richly bound.
I took it home eager to read, the verses I knew my soul would feed.
The book then opened to a page, and on a face my eyes did gaze,
A postcard from a point in time, a uniformed youth in life’s prime.
Who can you be, my soldier dear? Lost in a volume year upon year.
Upon your cap maple and crown, what bloody roads did you march down?
Oh the horror you must have faced, without your family’s warm embrace.
Were you trenched at Amien or the Somme? While crouched in mud did you ache for home?
Your portrait was cut for a frame. You sent “love and kisses”, but gave no name.
Was it your mother, your sister, or wife? The one who feared for your precious life.
She prayed for you each fear filled night, your face she kissed then dimmed the light.
What became of you, my soldier dear? In Flanders field with the poppies near?
In war torn times people cared for you, A century gone some people still do.
Poetry
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What a cool idea behind a poem! I love looking at old pictures and thinking about who the people in the photo might have been.
Glad you liked it. I tried to have the soldier’s unit identified but the Canadian Military Museum said they couldn’t see the epaulet well enough. Too bad. It’s was odd I found it because I’m half Canadian. I’m in Nova Scotia now working on some plays.
Thanks for your interest.
really enjoyed it. The sensory words and imagery are great. Nice job.