A soldiers wish

You ask me
what I want
when it’s all done
and passed

as the rain
came falling
sharp and fast
in iron and fiery blast

Not much,
I said.
before I’m dead
here is what it is

A place to lay
my head perhaps,
as sweet as
fresh cut grass,
and a bed as soft
as lovers breath.

A world to walk
with bloodless paths
not so wet
to soak my feet
or desert dry
to blind my eyes.

A pen and pad
to write my thoughts,
for poesy
and for poetry,
and bread and wine
on which to dine,
a poets rich repast.

-Dave Kavanagh

Written with respect on the anniversary of the battle of the Somme

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