It began with a tear, in the corner of his eye
of 70 years, and still to dry
drifting back, his memories strong
of friends and comrades long since gone
of whistles, shrieks, bangs and shot
of noise and clatter and smoke and flame
of friendship lost, now sorrow and pain
below the names of men no more
he still sees their smiles from when they joined
the Yorkshire Pals, their name was coined
to wipe the tears from his eyes
Inside he stood, tall and proud
“God bless you all” he said aloud
his time has come, its already near
wheeled away by his grandson now
he’s said goodbye, his final bow
Adrian Smith Nov 2013
I wrote this earlier this month. I had visited a war memorial during Remembrance week and was moved to see an old soldier, a frail old man wrapped up against the November chill huddled in a wheelchair. His old bones no longer able to support him. His eyes were watering, he was remembering. I had to look away, to leave him to his private grief and memories of times past and friends long remembered. In essence the poem is just about the simple act of remembrance, the act of visiting a war memorial at this time of year to pay respects. For some, it means the world. I can only imagine what the old boys must be remembering..
He wasn't alone. Someone, who i assumed to be a relative, possible a grandson was there to support him.
This image stuck with me for days and so I penned the above as a tribute to him and all the frail old men and all the veterans from past conflicts who still turn out, 70 years later for some, to remember those who have fallen. God bless them all.
