A rhyming, thought-provoking poem about the phases of war seen as seasons passing.
We marched off in the spring to join this war.
The trees were newly leafed, the grass turned green.
Fresh hopes flowered in this land we adore.
Beauty sprouted such as we’d never seen.
Summer brought relentless heat to grow crops
and test the strength of all under the sun.
We soldiers fought through valleys, up hilltops.
Hardened troops were we when August was done.
Fall’s chill winds cooled summer’s heat, the ardor
of men for waging war. The vibrant reds
and yellows of leaves foretold a harder
time ahead, a barren season one dreads.
We’ve been fighting for three years now, have seen
lakes of blood, piles of dead men, tasted both
victory and defeat. We try to glean
some virtue in death for a wartime oath.
Winter has come again to freeze men’s souls.
No end to war draws near. All is forlorn,
the land now barren since the cold controls.
Soldiers mourn and pray to see spring reborn.
Yes, the awful truth of war. I can see men freezing to death in trenches and foxholes. It makes no sense, no glory at all.
Your poem reminded me of the Civil War. What got me every time I looked at those old, but very clear, black-and-white images from the Civil War, what I took away was the absolute destruction of the environment wherever that war was waged. Trees all mangled, nothing but mud underfoot. All wildlife either fled or dead. While humans suffer greatly, war changes the landscape forever.
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Your poem reminded me of the Civil War. What got me every time I looked at those old, but very clear, black-and-white images from the Civil War, what I took away was the absolute destruction of the environment wherever that war was waged. Trees all mangled, nothing but mud underfoot. All wildlife either fled or dead. While humans suffer greatly, war changes the landscape forever.
Ron