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Array
(
[sid] => 107893
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => My Father's Father (1915)
[time] => 2005-10-17 07:01:40
[hometext] => A poem about my Father watching his Father go off to war in 1915
[bodytext] => I see my father’s father, kissing his wife goodbye tears flowing in their eyes, bodies nervously shaking embraced for a moment in time, entwined forever in love the seconds slip by quickly, two hearts silently breaking. They slowly disentangle, wishing the moment had not come shrugging his shoulders he smiles, not a reassuring smile he turns to my father, taking from him the rifle he let hold he say’s ‘Come young soldier, march with me for a while’. Waving to wife and mother they marched away, out of step my father trying to keep up, then his father slows down ‘Son’ he said ‘be brave now, dry your mothers tear for me make her proud, and if you grieve, grieve without a sound’. Father and son slowly marching down the cobblestoned street my father proud to be with his father, pretending to go to war copying his actions, waving at the cheering neighbours saluting the many British flags, the flag they would die for. Reaching the town hall he said ‘Get yourself home now lad’ as my father watched his father go to stand in line abreast Standing in awe at sight of so many men, my father could not move his father was lost within the khaki uniforms and battledress. The band strikes up, ‘Hundred Pipers’ the regimental march my father watches them slowly move off in step that’s true the echo of boots on cobblestone, then my father sees his father he runs towards him, crying, ‘Daddy, daddy I want to go with you’. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 144 [topic] => 57 [informant] => Harlequin [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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