Will they never fade or pass!
The mud, and the misty figures endlessly coming
In file through the foul morass,
And the grey flood-water ripping the reeds and grass,
And the steel wings drumming.
The hills are bright in the sun:
There's nothing changed or marred in the well-known places;
When work for the day is done
There's talk, and quiet laughter, and gleams of fun
On the old folks' faces.
I have returned to these:
The farm, and the kindly Bush, and the young calves lowing;
But all that my mind sees
Is a quaking bog in a mist - stark, snapped trees,
And the dark Somme flowing.
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From guest Kerry Lindsay (contact)
When I read this poem the sadness and absolute human tragedy of those times was overwhenlming. How could a young life ever recover. So very sad! -
Somme Mud
From guest Sherwood (contact)
This poem reminds me of "Somme Mud" by E.P.F. Lynch. An excellent read! -
The Battle of the Somme - fought in France between July and November 1916 between the Allies and Germany. 31,000 of Austrlia's Infactry were killed. this poem, with it's deep emotonal feeling tells of the impact that war makes upon man's mind. The narrator, it would appear is not at war as he speaks but so quickly he returns to the trenches in his thoughts and memories. Memories that will stay with him until he too is dead. A fine tribute to the fallen.
~Von~
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