Memoriam

Memoriam
For Arthur Wesney 1915-1941

If I could, I'd come to visit you,
where your bones have lain these eighty years.
In Libya's dangerous soil you are interred
beneath the ground you died on as a youth,
so many dreams unfulfilled and gone.
My father, who fought with you, is now gone too,
but died an old man, lying in his bed
still thinking of the way you died in battle,
your sacrificial blood drained in the sand.
What would be gained by coming to your grave
is indefinable. I cannot tell  
you of the millions subsequently slain
and feel your sorrow heave beneath the earth,
but only kneel to give you back your name.
Published
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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