Got out of bed,
shaved my bald head,
suited booted, not usual sloppy,
pinned on my curl-edged Legion Poppy.
Went to pray what I’d always said…
Thanks to all the wartime dead.
Eleven A.M… Wept…Amen.
My shrapneled Uncle Norm machine-gunned a German
didn’t know his name was Herman.
Crawled for cover on hands and feet,
torpedoed on a Red Cross ship just off Crete.
Etched in stone on a cross near home
another name in the Marines glorious tome.
One day I will bring my English rose
to meet you at your Greek repose.
Never got a chance to share some time…
Mum told us how much her brother shined.
Forever aged just twenty-one…
What a debt we owe the sons
of Britannia and her Allies,
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.