So, just under an hour ago, I posted a poem (which you can read HERE, if you feel so inspired) because I didn't like it and wanted some critique for it. Guess what?? I still don't like it, so I wrote another one that I like so much better! If anyone can come up with a good name for it, let me know. :) Here it is... oh! And thank you for being so patient with me. :)
With the ring upon my finger
And a kiss pressed to my lips,
My Tommy went away to war
Upon those ugly ships.
He promised he’d return to me
We’d share all we possessed
And his last gift that he gave to me
Were poppies for my bedroom chest.
I keep the flowers fresh for him
He’ll me as he left
His bright eyed girl, just seventeen
His love none can bereft.
The letters come in regularly
His love for me professed
I read them o’re and o’re again
With the vase of poppies on the chest.
Then I hear nothing for a while,
And then some news arrives
That he’s been sent to Gallipoli
Where only one in two men survives.
He tells me that he loves me –
I crush the letter to my breast
Oh God! send my Tommy back to me
I see the wilting poppies on the chest.
This cursed war! The mail is slow
I leave no newspaper unread
Until the black edged telegram comes
And tells me that my love is dead.
Tis cruel to think of my Tommy bright
Without me to be put to rest.
If only I could kiss him once
And lay some poppies on his chest.
I wander listless to the bay
My tears down my cheeks find course.
I sit and read Tommy’s words again:
His new found mates, his military horse.
And there come his words of love
Full of passion, ne’er suppressed.
I rise and scatter on the waves
The dried, dead poppies off my bedroom chest.