Poetry

Recalled to Arms

By 1st January 2006December 9th, 2019No Comments

Now a day has passed, I feel much better,
The shock at first to receive that letter,
The one that lay within the hall,
The one to answer my Country’s call.

Now the day has come and I must leave,
My wife in tears, my children grieve.
I close the door, behind me click!
Upon the floor, my feet are quick.

The garden path, where the weeds all grow,
My conscience has no time to slow.
Behind my life, my time, my past.
I leave my wife, aside I cast.

My children dear, their tears, they fall,
But I only hear my Country’s call.
Down the road with saddened feet,
With other called, I go to meet.

I catch the train, with warrant fare.
I come again but I know not where.
At stations end, I there embark,
The Sergeant calls, his orders bark!

On lorry green, on seats that creek,
My thoughts are clear, but my heart is week.
I look for friends I knew before,
Jenkins, Thorne and Jones the bore.

The faces in a swarming sea,
None of which are familiar to me.
None are faces that I knew,
It’s time to make, with friends anew.

But wait! Within the corner there,
I see a face, with curly hair.
Is that you, with head in hand?
What was your name? Were you in the band?

And there! Still looking as a youth,
My dearest friend, ‘Tom the tooth.’
Now I feel as if back home,
No longer scared, no more alone.

As barrack gates behind me fall,
I answer too my Country’s call.
Now back in uniform, buttons bright,
For my Country now, I prepare to fight.

In barrack room the boards are bare,
There’s what’s his name, with curly hair.
But thoughts of home meander near,
My wife, my children I see so clear.

O’ How I wish I could be home,
With them again, my mind does roam.
The bugle calls, the lights to dim,
We need our sleep, for the fight to win.

Re-trained are many and the few
But there are skills, to me are new.
What happened to the three-O-three?
The S.L.R, the G.P.M.G.

This gun that I now hold in hand,
I’ve been given to fight for my land.
The enemy, so plain to see,
I’ll fight with him, he’ll fight with me.

But there are those who would not come,
Wanting others to fight for their freedom.
Come; take the shilling, shinning bright,
For your Country, swear that you will fight.

Peter Bruffell

Author Peter Bruffell

More posts by Peter Bruffell

Leave a Reply