I think and write about war because I think that it is part of who we are - it is an unavoidable paret of being human. But I also know that it is not a game and that it is a terrible thing not to be undertaken lightly. My dear sister Diana is writing a book about Canada leading up to WWI. One of her characters is a poet. She of course is the poet. As we too appear to be stumbling into a terrible time, I would like to share now and then some of her poems.
Here is the first. It is called "My Love"
Oh, My love, how I hunger for thee here within my bed of mudNot your arms so sweet and soft that stretch to me in the night
In my grasp instead of you, I hold a spade unto my breast.
It is cold and hard like the frost above that lays on top of me
My feet curl up, not entwined with yours so warm and slight
They live inside my boots at night and they feel nothing at all
as they do not belong to me.
My hands grip this ice -cold thing, as I am afraid!
What if my cold mud bed instead of embracing me my love
Should fall around me like a tomb, and with out this cold hard companion
I would be buried alive, and never come home to thee.
Oh how I long for thee and the touch of your breast in my hand.
My chest pressing against your back and our hearts so close
Oh how I long to feel our hearts beat as one, and my face
buried in your long dark hair, like silk against my cheek
Shall I whisper to you so close to me, good night my love?
Only the sound of your breath at night, only you and me.
All snug and tucked up in bed are we, and our love to keep us warm.
And the birds in the day do wake us up, all twittering and free
Oh my love, I shall come back to you, if God spares me just one night.
If a shell shall find me in the night, do not cry for me!
I shall be all curled up in my hole of mud and my heart shall fly to thee
Carried on a flame so bright and warm to you so sweet and clean
I shall enter thee when you are fast asleep and forever live in thee
For I can live in this bed of mud because I live within thee every night.
Oh! My love, do not cry for me. For I shall watch over thee, my love.
