Atop his scarred mare,
Beside his beleaguered comrades,
Hussar and dragoon and cuirassier,
The lancer wipes muck from his uniform azure,
Harvest of a cold morning scrap,
Barely a mile taken,
A score of lives paid,

And the general sips his wine,

A reluctant warrior,
A soldier true and father twice,
Thrall to the kings coin,
Yet the battery fire recommences,
And the order to charge is given,
A L’attaque!
The flagging lancer blasts ahead,

And the general sips his wine,

Shrapnel and flesh collide all around his advance,
The lancer picks out his mark,
The grist for his lance,
Akin to a Romeo delivering his final romantic plea,
Direct to the foes heart,
Inspecting his handiwork he saw his victim to be no more than fourteen summers,
Somewhere a mother wails,

And the general sips yet more wine.

Comments
  1. Carol anne says:

    Yep! So good! I loved it! ❤ you write so well my friend!

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