•(Ode to the unknown boys killed in the First World War)
•No more will he look into the eyes of his Mother,
•No more will he see his Brothers smile,
•No more will he feel love.
•No more will he fish, and climb the trees of England
•Or marvel at the voice of the nightingale.
•For he is Sixteen and a Man,
•He has done is duty by his Country,
•Taken the shrapnel, which exploded over him
•Like a Bright light sent from an avenging God.
•He sees the dark approaching
•But he can take it, for he is an Englishman
•No more will he hear the whistle to advance
•No more the frost and Snow
•No more the fear of being killed
•For I am no More
•Remember me Mother.
© Copyright 2016 steven cooke. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Other
Short Story / Historical Fiction
Short Story / War and Military
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