PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

One hour before light in the Soldier's sdawn,

Minute sounds slip by scarcely heard,

In the cold stillness of frost,

A rodent rustles as he hurries home.

A bough stirs in a whisper of wind.

The Soldier sits tight,awaiting the light.



Then he sees the Cavalry lined up in front.

The first sun streaks on their uniform glinting,

Their breath steams from flaring nostrils,

Drawn sabres flash in the first light,

Then the gentle creak of bridle and saddle,

And now the trot to canter, signals the advance.



The Soldier sits still, waiting

Until they reach that tree on the right.

That's when he'll give the signal for the blanket of shells.

Explosions, gun shots, screams of horses and Men,

Bloodshed, death, to start off a new day.

Still the soldier sits tight, a frozen tear on his cheek.