This poem was written at this time of year, but a few years ago. George died not long after taking part in the TV programme on which I saw him. Count this as my poppy for this year.
GEORGE 1998
The strong young face is yet
Visible, hardly blurred by
The eighty-year journey from
Passchendaele. Inane questions seem
Impertinent, but age has brought patience.
‘I were a strappin’ lad.’
And this self-knowledge had
Catapulted him into
Hell. Stripped of friends by
Hot shards of death he has
Persisted through three more generations.
Now a little child shall
Lead him through the neat
City of the dead to meet again
A friend still young.
Dear God, when the end
Comes quietly, how will he explain?
© C.M.M. 12/11/98
4 comments:
No bad!
"Catapulted him into
Hell. Stripped [...]"
Love it! An excellent visual expression. Especially like the way you have situated the word 'hell'. I can hear myself teaching this...
explain?
And this self-knowledge had
Catapulted him into
Hell.
And this self-catapult had helled him into knowledge.
(seems to be the keyline, thought my adjustment up before I saw the comments!)
Meika - he know himself that a "strapping lad" such as himself had a duty to go into the trenches. I heard him say this about how strong he was with a sort of wry smile - as if he realised what he had let himself in for.
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