Tales of a Poor Poge by Richard Palmer - HTML preview

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TO A SOLDIER, DYING

 

A wounded soldier sprawls on the field,

His youthful body torn and stained.
His hopes, his joys and his loves are gone

As he lies there in the chilling rain.

His body is caked with blood and sweat

And his mind churns with fear
Knowing now that he is dying
And will never see his future years.

No kiss of a wife will he ever taste
Nor the smiles of his children see.
He has sacrificed his most priceless treasure

For a dream that could never be.

The sun slow passes into tomorrow
As Nature weeps over this bloody land,

And embraces the last anger and sorrow

Of a soldier boy who never lived to be a man.