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War's Echo: Poetic Reflections on Battle and Resilience
Lyrics
I've tinkered at my bits of rhymes
I have worked on my small pieces of poetry
In weary, woeful, waiting times;
In times of weariness and sorrowful waiting
And doleful hours of battle-din
During mournful hours of battle noise
Ere yet they brought the wounded in;
Before they brought in the wounded
Through vigils of the fateful nights
Through watchful nights of fate
In lousy barns by candle-light;
In unpleasant barns by candlelight
And dug-outs, sagging and aflood,
In dug-outs, sagging and flooded
On stretchers stiff and bleared with blood;
On stretchers stiff and stained with blood
By ragged grove, by ruined road,
By ragged groves, by ruined roads
By hearths accursed where love abode,
By cursed hearths where love once existed
By broken altars, blackened shrines
By broken altars and blackened shrines
I've tinkered at my bits of rhymes.
I have worked on my small pieces of poetry
I've solaced me with scraps of song
I have consoled myself with fragments of song
The desolated ways along:
Along desolate paths
Through sickly fields all shrapnel-sown,
Through fields scattered with shrapnel
And meadows reaped by death alone;
And meadows harvested only by death
By blazing cross and splintered spire,
By burning crosses and splintered spires
By headless Virgin in the mire;
By headless Virgin in the mud
By gardens gashed amid their bloom,
By gardens slashed amid their bloom
By guttered grave, by shattered tomb;
By guttered graves, by shattered tombs
Beside the dying and the dead,
Beside the dying and the dead
Where rocket green and rocket red
Where green and red rockets illuminate
In trembling pools of poising light,
In trembling pools of poised light
With flowers of flame festoon the night.
With flowers of flame adorning the night
Ah me! by what dark ways of wrong
Alas! through what dark paths of wrongdoing
I've cheered my heart with scraps of song.
I have cheered my heart with fragments of song
So here's my sheaf of war-won verse,
So here is my collection of war-inspired poetry
And some is bad, and some is worse.
Some is bad, and some is worse
And if at times I curse a bit,
And if I sometimes express anger
You needn't read that part of it;
You don't have to read that part
For through it all like horror runs
Because throughout it all, the horror of war persists
The red resentment of the guns.
The red resentment of the guns runs through
And you yourself would mutter when
And you would mutter when
You took the things that once were men
You handled the remains of what were once men
And sped them through that zone of hate
And sent them through the zone of hatred
To where the dripping surgeons wait;
To where the surgeons wait with dripping instruments
And wonder too if in God's sight
And wonder if, in the sight of God,
War ever, ever, can be right.
War can ever be considered right
Yet may it not be, crime and war
Yet it may not be crime and war
But efforts misdirected are.
But misguided efforts
And if there's good in war and crime
And if there's goodness in war and crime
There may be in my bits of rhyme,
There may be in my fragments of rhyme
My songs from out the slaughter mill:
My songs from the slaughter mill
So take or leave them as you will.
So take them or leave them as you wish
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