The Winds of War

The wind carries the voices of the dead;

if you listen quietly you'll hear them.

Battlefields are ghosted by those slain there 

long after the battles are forgotten 

and the guns and shells rusted to silence.

You my ancient cousin lay with the slain 

in some foreign field far from your homeland.

What bugles play for you now with sad tones?

Who hears your voice now and who counts your bones?

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Poignant words here for those who gave their lives for our freedom. I wonder what they would make of their country today. Fine poetry.

Chris