Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

LOOK FOR ME ON WAR'S LAST HILL

by Bob Harrison

Cold, cold and colder still
I scrambled up that war torn hill
The place where I would meet my god
Upon a patch of frozen sod
Between two stones on hoary blades
I was cast down with upward gaze
My eyes amongst the stars to roam
My back on unforgiving loam
And as the Plough described its shape
Upon the night's great sable cape
All shivers stopped in hand and toe
As it came time for me to go
And in the morning misty bright
A medic spied a sorry sight
An empty shell with mouth agape
The open door of my escape

Added: 17.12.2008

Email:

Share:

Back