Too many were to mourn.The war
Had taken all the young, but left
Behind a few who stumbled, blind
Or lame, some, faring worse, bereft
Of sense, writhed in screaming pain
And cursed their God. The shame will last
Through poems scratched in bloody line
By this dead lad, now, though passed
Away, he'd used his searing muse to pen
Accusing rhyme of each fierce horror,
As he captained men, who then
With him were brought to early dust.
Hard death then made another claim,
Fame this bard, alive, would never know.
Just days before the very final blast
He fell, the ditches he'd despised
As living hell, were holding him at last.
Trusty words preserved in clarion verse
Still cry, that lying yet, where long ago
They died, such spilled blood serves to
Teach a truth, that learn from war we must.
Tribute to Wilfred Owen - 1893-1918
Killed 4th November,1918.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-remembered/
