Treasure Island

David Semenske

(9/17/58 / Milwaukee, Wi)

In the Fields of France


In the fields of France
We took a glance
Waiting for the German Horde

Passing the time
Watching their lines
No time to get Bored

Here they come
Those Barbarous Huns
Opening the gates of hell

Behind an earthen wall
We waited for the call
Hearing their screams and yells

Their machine guns go pop, pop, pop
As we climbed over the top
And into hells throes

As we fell to the ground
Death was all around
So we now know

That no one ever really dies
Even as their soul touches the skies
As long as their story goes

But when their story dies
And they still there lie
No one ever knows

Of who they were
Or what they did
Life secrets now well hid
As another story comes and goes

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Dedicated to my Great Uncle Edward and those who died at Point Lucey France on August 18th,1918 while going over the top. I became obsessed with finding his grave which my parents said was unknown. I spent the next twenty years researching World War I and what they did with the dead(let them rot in the field until a truce was called then buried them in a shallow grave near where they fell. After the war the remains were dug up and transferred to other cemeteries in France or back home) It was during this time that I wrote 'In the Fields of France'. I felt sad when I finally found his grave, not more than twenty miles from where we lived. All that time and those who knew(Grandparents and Great Grandparents) said nothing. The only thing that I can think of is the Immigrant division that was going on at the time. I had heard stories about families ostracizing sons when they came back because they were killing Germans.

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