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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Biographical · #1046008
This poem is a rewrite in verse of a letter written to me by my grandfather.
I saw the bastards coming, I knew why they were here.
Joy was that day destroyed, replaced by evil fear.
"Go back", I wanted to shout at them, "do not speak to me,
go before you speak foul truth, please just let me be".
They slowly walked up to me, took off their hats and said:
"We're sorry sir to tell you, your Danny boy is dead.
A grateful nation thanks you sir, for your sacrifice",
hollow words from sailors, what a terrible price.
I asked them to tell me what happened to my son,
if he had been killed by 'charlie' with a bullet from a gun?
"No sir", they said to me, "he did not go that way.
It is so hard for us to tell, but please sir, if I may?
The massive guns of a battleship can shoot a hole in the moon,
those mighty guns were fired nineteen minutes too soon.
You should be proud of your son, courage he did not lack,
he got 31 people to safety, for one more he went back.
He knew the shells were coming, he was resolute.
When he saw his time had come he offered a salute.
He did his duty on that day, a hero to the core.
He will be remembered, now and forevermore."
How can I tell you grandson, so you will understand?
I hope that you still love me when you become a man.
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