To Drain The Snow Of Blood

by Ben Pickard   Jan 13, 2021

To see the soldiers dance with joy
For they were going home.
To see the fullness of their flesh
Where once was skin and bone.

The horrors passed - the screaming quelled -
The nightmares turned to dreams.
The mud and sludge all hard again
Beneath the golden beams.

The amputees and those who fell
To gas and grim grenades
Would suffer no injustices
At home where love is made.

Of England's green, I've heard men tell,
But never did I know
That home was brighter than the sun
And purer than the snow.


Ben Pickard 2021


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