PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Tears in his eyes, he took her hand,

Just before she told him what she had planned,

'I've something to tell you',

He whispers in a voice so low,

Her heart skips a beat when he does that, you know;

Smiling she awaited, unknowingly of her fate,

Grinning to herself thinking 'Isn't life great?'.

He stroked her palm and gently said,

'Darling, I fear soon I might be dead'.

Nervously she laughed,

Then saw the grave look in his eyes,

What on earth would she do if her darling dies?

'What do you mean, Adrian? Are you ill, or sick?'

He replied quite bluntly,

In a tone deep and thick,

'I'm not ill or sick. Or handicapped in any way.

I'm not racist or a coward and I'm not even gay.'

She couldn't understand,

She dropped his hand,

And turned to face the night sky,

'I don't understand',

She murmered into her cold hand,

'Why are you going to die?'.

He replied with gentle words,

But they cut like a knife,

Adrian had to tell his pregnant soon to be wife,

That he was going to fight,

In the Great War.

He was going to fight.

He was leaving tonight.

'But you can't'.

She protested with the stubborness she was blessed with,

And she pulled him back to their blanket on the ground.