Saturday, November 11, 2017

Not a word said

Granddad sitting by the fire
,
Said nothing of his past
That time
That other time
Just sometimes he made
A joke about the lice
And how he'd used a match
To clear them from his vest
Night, night sleep tight
Mind the bugs...
Working men like him
Said little
I didn't know
He'd lost a brother.
And his beloved working horses
Gone to war with him
Didn't come back.
I had to go to others
For those tales.
Sassoon's descriptions
Still haunt
The word bloated
Makes me nauseous
Oh it wasn't glorious
That people like Granddad
Saw things they shouldn't
Not a word said
Never forgot