The Final Whistle

by | Apr 16, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

Reveille effervesced on the air.
The Hope of a new day dawned.

The soldier meekly walked to his parapet.
There he stood silently waiting, thoughts buzzing.

Tommy, next to him spoke out,
“Is it possible, ‘The Nutcase’ is here?”

“Not Likely”, the meek man said,
“This is his idea of humour”.

With a shrift blast, the whistle blew.
Over the top, On command, No hesitation.

The meek man and Tommy, distant memories.
Personal belongings now an exhibit.
‘The Dead of Verdun’


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