The British Soldier

by | Mar 21, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

He left the shores of his homeland
In the service of the Queen
And as we headed out in the Channel
Behind us the White Cliffs of Dover seen
For the last time perhaps
In many a day, or even months or years
As he gazed at the wake behind him
In his eyes were just a few tears
A soldier he’d always wanted to be
Since a lad it had been his dream
To put on his boots and battledress
And be part of an Army team
Ready to fight for the right to be free
Of oppression and rid the terrorist threat
The task that lay before him
He’d not comprehended yet
Although he’d trained for many a month
At last he’d be put to the test
Fighting a foe on foreign soil
No quarter given to come out the best
But when we arrived at the foreign shores
We could hear the gunfire rattle
From Tanks and forward Artillery
Very soon we would join the battle
And now this lad just 18 years old
Witnessed war for the very first time
The heat, the hate ,the torment
The smell, the noise and the grime
The terror as shells pass close over head
Their target too distant to see
But then a roar and a scream and a bang
Retalliation and our first casualty
It was his mate who had caught the fatal blast
Who he’d known not a month nor more
And they’d come here to practice what they had learnt
Then he died on a foreign shore
It was afterwards written by one of his mates
Don’t bury him here in this land
But lay him to rest in the pleasant green pastures
Where his childhood dreams were all planned.


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