Pain of a Hero.

Granite slices of tomb
above a sunken soldier in doom.
Who could foretell?
The grave of umpteen
slain in action at
Gavrelle April 1917.

Some shocked trees are gnarled
and barely stenciled upon
-the evergreen awning-
at the fingers of a petrified Angel Gabriel.

The sheer low arc
of another winter sun
is bronzing the cask of a wartime paragon.
Twilight bound the the moon shall light
some symbols to decipher
another night.

A birdsong soundtrack is the theme of thy soul.
Captain of a short life.
No more wounds at Gavrelle.
Ring the bell.
I am the vigil still here today.
I am the flowers on your memorial causeway.

Projected along this sacred site
are the wings of shoulders
in the midst of this flight.

Decorated by your country heroic one.
The honour story in motion
for what plight for so long?
The gates to this pasture are closing at five.....
Static in this transient hill.
I must leave.
I can tell.
Upon your heroic cry we still dwell.

May you rest in peace within this chime.
The bell echoes the bell.

Taken with no sword to befell.
Pain of a hero.
Slain in action at Gavrelle.
Who could foretell?

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