Find me, where lonesome weeping echoes drift across the battlefield.
Find me, beyond the graves of fellows, whose wounds were never healed.
Find me, when only silent hearses search the lea for those who might remain.
Find me, upon the crest of death himself, within the blood there dried and stained.
My thunder echoed loudly, when once decision’s tide was run.
My heart grew cold and cloudy, at first blow lain till last shriek done.
My soul, in fluttered reservation, drew duty from the tangled limbs.
My God, sincere, no hesitation, to drift these men on wings to Him.
Know me, where e’er tension seeks lost men, stemmed from egos large and bold.
Know me, standing frozen in the field, ten steps beyond the forest’s hold.
Know me, waiting, watching, duty bound, to catch your fall, mend your remorse.
Know me, shadowed through the killing ground, hitching hearse to death’s good horse.
Poet's Corner 