The bugler…

by Robbie – Sweffling’s resident poet

The poppies all have gone now
The fields are smooth and green
The silence now encompasses
The atmosphere serene
The hell that was, forgotten
Beyond the scope of minds
Nature’s covered over
Where the fallen fell in lines
The only sound is birdsong
From larks that sing on high
The clouds drift by unhurried
In a peaceful summer sky
You cannot hear the screaming
You cannot hear the cries
But the peace that’s all around you
Is a very thin disguise
There’s a bugler in the distance
A suggestion on the breeze
It’s only now you hear him
On summer days like these
The notes are barely with you
You must strain to hear his posts
He plays them for the fallen
And a hundred thousand ghosts
He is doomed to play forever
Though he falters now and then
As he knows when he falls silent
That the dead will rise again…