The Green Fields of France

Dreams and memories buried deep in mud
bodies piled on high, covered in blood
promises made, but never kept
children who played, while women wept.

Is this the great legacy of the 'great' war?
That so many died in one drawn out roar?
Was there anything else that it achieved,
apart from counting millions who were bereaved?

A moonscape created here on Earth
a land full of death, instead of birth.
Mans capacity for inhumanity
stretched to the point of total insanity.

Men who returned, disfigured forever
simple human tragedies, many times over.
Men who had marched off to war full of hope
Women who were left unable to cope.

The green fields of France are all quiet now
the guns have been replaced by the plough.
But the ghosts in grey lie still around
you can feel them whenever you tread on the ground.

A winters-like scene in the middle of summer
You can almost hear the old, distant drummer.
The trenches and tunnels are all covered in
yet still you can see them, the grass is so thin.

The crosses are stark in the midst of the green
like voices of old, you can still hear them keen.
The earth will recover it's soul from this place
Man will take longer to return to God's grace.


© Ian Lumley