The Soldier

       The clouds, gunmetal-grey, gathered around
        Rain slowly, steadly falls,
        Like wax from candle,
        Into the dead man's mound.


        The trench muddy and turbulent
         He lay therein
         Heaving, breathing and panting
         Lost amidst the voices around
         And a dreary silence within


        Amidst those teary eyes
        Memories of his homeland rises
        The gentle caress of those yellow cornfields thrush
        Treading on the grass, green and lush
        Under the sky starry and blue to lie
         In her arms to die


         A cold, sullen wind drew
         A bullet piercing his heart through
         With eyes wide open
         Stared he at everything and nothing around
         Lay he in the dead man's mound.