Post by davidmm on Jun 14, 2008 10:02:27 GMT -8
Just to confuse everyone (myself included) I have changed the title of this poem from "The Solder and the Archaeologist" to "The Colours" .... (Plus some editing)
***One hour ago***
The archaeologist bent down
And sifted through the grime.
Concentration forced a frown;
His mind was lost in time.
His expert fingers dug in deep,
So deep into the ground.
The past lay buried, fast asleep,
The past lay all around.
So many years ago, he knew,
How death had stalked this land.
But decades passed and decades flew;
Now few could understand.
So still he dug into the soil
And said a silent prayer
That time had not conspired to spoil
The secrets buried there.
*** 94 years earlier ***
He was a youth of sixteen years,
A brother and a son.
He had no worries, had no fears,
His life had scarce begun.
He dreamed the dreams of all young men
Those summers long ago
When sunlight bathed the verdant glen
And nightly stars would glow.
But, soon that time and world would end
And innocence would die.
Young men were called on to defend
And not to question why.
And so our youth, a soldier now,
Bade farewell to his home.
He stood upon the vessel's prow
And sped across the foam.
*** 30 minutes ago ***
The archaeologist bent near
And even closer still.
What he had found was very clear;
He felt a tiny thrill.
He cleaned more soil, then in his hand
He held a piece of rag.
He cleared more clay and cleared more sand -
It was a patch of flag.
And as he swept the dirt away
More colour came to view.
He saw the signs of long decay;
His heart drummed a tattoo.
He tenderly and gently brushed
The clinging soil and clay.
He knew such things would not be rushed
Nor should there be delay.
*** 94 years ago ***
The soldier boy lived 'mong the shells
And slept on beds of mud.
He soon forgot the wild bluebells
And came to terms with blood.
But then at last the orders came
And Generals on high,
Seeking glory, seeking fame,
Made men attack and die.
Our golden youth with rifle high
Advanced as he was told
Straight on towards the enemy -
A bonny lad and bold.
His friends fell dead to left and right;
He saw a comrade drag
A swathe of colour shining bright;
It was his country's flag.
*** 5 minutes ago ***
At last the archaeologist
Looked on the sight, obscene.
It took no criminologist
To reconstruct the scene.
A tender youth, not yet a man,
Had fallen years ago.
Clad in a flag he'd ran and ran
Toward the unseen foe.
*** 94 years ago ***
The banner wrapped around his form
He charged with eyes wide bright.
The bullets gathered like a storm
And brought eternal night.
His comrades laid him where he fell
On battle's field of blood.
But none survived his tale to tell,
They joined him in the mud.
*** now ***
The archaeologist weeps tears
That mingle with the clay.
The youth has slept here many years,
And here is where he'll stay.
The youth will never understand
Although his hurt will cease;
And in that far forgotten land
At last there now is peace.
***One hour ago***
The archaeologist bent down
And sifted through the grime.
Concentration forced a frown;
His mind was lost in time.
His expert fingers dug in deep,
So deep into the ground.
The past lay buried, fast asleep,
The past lay all around.
So many years ago, he knew,
How death had stalked this land.
But decades passed and decades flew;
Now few could understand.
So still he dug into the soil
And said a silent prayer
That time had not conspired to spoil
The secrets buried there.
*** 94 years earlier ***
He was a youth of sixteen years,
A brother and a son.
He had no worries, had no fears,
His life had scarce begun.
He dreamed the dreams of all young men
Those summers long ago
When sunlight bathed the verdant glen
And nightly stars would glow.
But, soon that time and world would end
And innocence would die.
Young men were called on to defend
And not to question why.
And so our youth, a soldier now,
Bade farewell to his home.
He stood upon the vessel's prow
And sped across the foam.
*** 30 minutes ago ***
The archaeologist bent near
And even closer still.
What he had found was very clear;
He felt a tiny thrill.
He cleaned more soil, then in his hand
He held a piece of rag.
He cleared more clay and cleared more sand -
It was a patch of flag.
And as he swept the dirt away
More colour came to view.
He saw the signs of long decay;
His heart drummed a tattoo.
He tenderly and gently brushed
The clinging soil and clay.
He knew such things would not be rushed
Nor should there be delay.
*** 94 years ago ***
The soldier boy lived 'mong the shells
And slept on beds of mud.
He soon forgot the wild bluebells
And came to terms with blood.
But then at last the orders came
And Generals on high,
Seeking glory, seeking fame,
Made men attack and die.
Our golden youth with rifle high
Advanced as he was told
Straight on towards the enemy -
A bonny lad and bold.
His friends fell dead to left and right;
He saw a comrade drag
A swathe of colour shining bright;
It was his country's flag.
*** 5 minutes ago ***
At last the archaeologist
Looked on the sight, obscene.
It took no criminologist
To reconstruct the scene.
A tender youth, not yet a man,
Had fallen years ago.
Clad in a flag he'd ran and ran
Toward the unseen foe.
*** 94 years ago ***
The banner wrapped around his form
He charged with eyes wide bright.
The bullets gathered like a storm
And brought eternal night.
His comrades laid him where he fell
On battle's field of blood.
But none survived his tale to tell,
They joined him in the mud.
*** now ***
The archaeologist weeps tears
That mingle with the clay.
The youth has slept here many years,
And here is where he'll stay.
The youth will never understand
Although his hurt will cease;
And in that far forgotten land
At last there now is peace.
