In the end, the bitter end, he who orders the death and destruction of another nation shall, himself, sleep the sleep of the vanquished.
I Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh And call out feebly in the midst of night Calling, fearsome as their bleak wanton cry And frighting, as the unthinkable fright Until the dark of their plight passes by.
II For, cold are the eyes that slumber in fear And cold is the heart of the soul that sleeps And sour is the taste of the sleeper's tear And dire...
The bravest of the brave Will rise to meet the foe And fear not who they well may be As marching on they go. They stand before the fierce And find the faith to put Their trust in God, yet still they take A bullet in the foot.
The bravest of the brave Will rise and soldier on And have no fear of danger Till all their wars are gone. They fight their bloody battle Oblivious to harm, They trust in God, yet still they take A bullet in the arm.
The bravest of the brave Will fear not where they tread ...
When I was very small I wondered what... Wondered what special dreams may dance my way. Not the dreams to visit one in one's sleep, Rather the other dreams, dreamed in the day, Dangerous dreams, dreams of the kind that stay.
When I became older, and yet still small, I dreamed I was a hero, a great man. When it rained I dreamed that I was Noah, Remember Noah? Remember his plan? Could I save the world? (Maybe I still can!).
For heroes don't have to be brave, you know! Anyone can be a hero (can't they?) A plan is all that is...
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep Where dreams are blown out of the shallow hills And I, in my solitude, do rejoice As I take my comfort within their voice Which visits me as the cool evening stills And is rinsed by raindrops that mildly weep.
Gone is the rainbow and tincture of day Lost in the clouds as they swim in the air And I, in my quietness, drift afar By merely the light of a silver'd star Where only the souls of the sleeping dare Seek a place that is distant - far away.
COLLECTED POEMS OF THE GREAT WAR A CENTURY ON By Alan S Jeeves ******
THE EDWARDIANS OF ENGLAND
Victoria has gone and darkness too The gleam glints through the black bounded railings; As an empire exalts - a new day's dawn - And the Pretoria Boers shed their arms For, a prince is crowned in the bright sunlight And jolly is coming for one and all. The men boast moustaches tickling their nose And long skirted women fleer behind fans, Dressing their children in clean sailor suits And reading them...
Velvet paper tinctured pink, A red rose at its crest; The whittled feather, bathed in ink, Set to bare its best. A lambent candle close at hand With dancing, flitting flare; Where evening translates its command And nothing stirs the air.
Words are authored, truly writ, Where, from the soul they flow; As on the page they snugly sit, Affection to bestow. Filling out each careful line, Each one a work of art, Hand and mind, with pen, entwine Concerted to the heart.
The Jolly Little Cafe Where A Chestnut Tree Once Grew (Monologue)
There's a jolly little cafe where a chestnut tree once grew, They serve hot bubbling tea and buttered toast, Where the waiter wears a waistcoat which is buttoned up askew And the waitress glides along much like a ghost.
The chestnut in the glade has now fallen to the blade Many years have passed since lovers neath it met And there below its shade, fickle promises were made, But promises are easy to forget.
For there, or so they say, on one January day A maiden took her life beneath the tree And lifeless, then,...