Saturday, December 1, 2007


Days of danger, death and daring,
days of shadow, strew, and shine;
Times of warfares fitful flaring,
hours of toil in mound and mine.
Times of toil in trench and traverse
Sad as sin in toil and sap
Hours of horrors grim that have us
haunted in our every nap.
stench of stricken soldiers lying
Dead and frightful out in front,
Long, long lanes of brave men dying
After some successful stunt.

After these, sweet scenes of beauty,
Homeland, Mother England's breast;
After death adn danger, duty,
Sweeter are the hours of rest.

Warm hearts, kind friends, winsome smiling
Steal the frownings from my face,
All the trace of wars defiling
Gentle kindly hands efface.

When the hands of time have stricken
War and sorrow from my path,
memory's song my pulse will quicken
In a dulcet aftermath.

Sweet tones deeadening sounds of sorrow,
Sadness, wounds, and death and hate;
All the hours of life's to-morrow
Will keep the song inviolate.

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