Threnody: For An Old World War

My arm has become too feeble-
To lift and wave the flag-pole.
Too weak to manly grab the sword.
Too numb to feel the trigger of the

Home so distant : bullet closer to my
No lover. Mother dead. Except
brownie my three-legged cat.
I seek solitude on an old bible for
I am pained to my bones for the light I never got in my youth.

The stars twinkle no more to invite-
My youthful limbs to the heights.
My prided rank has turned sour.
There is no bet on me for the evening fights.

The voice of the grave now within
Cold and dreadful its call like a dark poet's.
There is no future to pursue or dream on.
Except as it is believed; my spirit will fly from this house of dust.

They'll sing a favourite hymn of mine-
And etch an epitaph with an elegiac
My corpse shall teach the transcience of life.
And this shall I attain; to be alive in their hearts for a season and time.

- Martins O'Deep