A.R. “David” Lewis
One hour before light in the soldier’s dawn,
Minute sounds slip by unheard.
In the cold stillness of frost,
A rodent rustles as he hurries home.
A bush stirs in a whisper of wind.
The soldier sits tight, awaiting the light.
Then he sees the Cavalry lined up in front.
The first sun streaks on their uniform glinting.
Breath streams from flaring nostrils,
Drawn sabres flash in the first light,
Then the gentle creak of bridle and saddle,
And then the trot to canter, signals the advance.
The Soldier sits still, waiting
Until they reach that tree on the right.
That’s when he’ll give the signal for the blanket of shells.
Explosions, gunshots, screams of horses and men:
Blood shed, death, to start off a new day.
Still the Soldier sits tight, a frozen tear on his cheek.
©Copyright January 8, 2008 by A.R. “David” Lewis
Author’s Note: An incident as told to me by a WW1 vet. The memory of the carnage remained vivid in his mind always.