This is a poem about a solider from WW II. i found his name on a memorial in a local village, i don’t know anything about him other than his name, it got me thinking and this is the result…
Lonely by he sat longing,
For home that seemed to far to walk.
It was the power taken from the
Power given that seemed to sore so much.
With his gun in hand and soul in his pocket
He looked around at the dead pocketed souls
Standing by to find the holes to slip through,
It wasn’t long.
But a name still stands in a small home
Back where its not to far to walk.