A poem of an Old Soldier
No longer do I see my friends who once marched by my side,
No longer can I hear the sound of voices raised in pride.
As we marched off down that road, to whatever lay in store,
Had I a choice of comrades, then I could not ask for more.
We set off then that autumn day, not knowing what lay ahead,
But soon we found out to our cost, there are no glorious dead.
Just young men who had no choice, we went with flags unfurled,
So that our kin could again rejoice, in peace throughout the world.
I came back, I don't know how, to see my folks again,
But I pray to God, my children, you will never experience the same.
By Robert Smith of Leeds.
If you've written a wartime poem, please send it in to be included here.