The Somme - 1916 Poem by Ernestine Northover
The Somme - 1916
Proud I was, to join up and fight for my Country.
The khaki uniform, the regimental badge.
Then I saw Charlie. He bled to death, poor sod,
no one to help him,
he was just cannon fodder.
Are we winning Sarge?
Stuck in this filthy trench, socks saturated, serge wet,
soul soaked in despair.
What're we fighting for Sarge?
I'd write home, but they'd most likely never receive it,
and even a letter would be plastered with mud
before it even got as far as the envelope.
Ammo's low Sarge!
Firing at mirages, floating far off in a mist,
ethereal bodies.
Call this life, mate!
Nah! Living death!
They said it'll be over by Christmas.
Do you believe that Sarge?
Hope so, cos all we have left is 'hope'!
© Ernestine Northover
As simple as the poor fools who fell for the jingoism prevalent at that time.But so expressive of the idiotic trench warfare.I have a strong affinity for this era which produced some of the finest english poetry ever written ivor
So many, so sad, we can only look on and hope that death has brought peace to their souls , Love Duncan
Hi Ernestine, This was wonderful: -) I think you capture the soldier's spirit perfectly, from the excitement of joining up, to the realisation of impending death... amazing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 9:45:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Ernestine, a wonderfully expressed dismissal of all wars. Thank you for caring. Bless you, Jerry