- Non-Erotic Poetry
- November Morn
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November morn.
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On a November morn they stand in line,
Grey old men dressed in black,
Lined of face and proud at heart,
Bemedalled chest and straight of back.
They hold dark thoughts from foreign lands,
Of friends whose souls were trapped in youth,
Of children exposed to deadly force,
Those repeated dreams revealing hideous truth.
Bright sunshine lacks summer's warmth,
the monochrome minister intones sombre words.
But these proud men must fear alone,
how ploughshares we'll always use as swords.
And the brightest red pierces the grey stone,
I wonder how I would have faired,
had I stood along side these remaining few,
Who in Flanders and the Somme had so nobly served.
They will all be gone soon these old men,
Becoming a vanished link to our bestial past,
But for their suffering we must ensure,
We never again let such events come to pass.
©CafeBleu 2006
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