Private James (Pashchendaele)

Private James (Pashchendaele)

Stand by the graves,
of lost souls across the sea.
Row upon row,
the price tag of the free.

Stand in the lines
as if you were at war.
Stone, cold and silent.
We’ve forgotten what was it for.

Look to the skies,
heavy leaden clouds of rain.
Not feeling or seeing,
was it really worth the pain?

Watch as we walk
and read out your old lost names.
Not knowing the story.
Who were you Private James?

Feel the breeze scatter.
the fading petals from your grave.
We will never know you,
or the ones you fought to save.

As your bones turn to dust
and your memory dulls from view,
your sacrifice is sliding
away from the ones who knew.

Stand by the graves
and read them one by one.
Each name hides a soldier,
a father and a son.

See them in their lines
just as they fell in war.
They never made it home,
no footsteps at the door.

So stand by the graves,
and lament their soulful cry.
They paid for our future
without a last goodbye.

I promise I’ll remember
and think of you Private James.
Just one man in an ocean
of long forgotten names.

Jan Millward©