In Third Form, there was a History trip to the Battlefields. One of the places we went to was the Thiepval Memorial. I wrote this poem thinking about this.
A wanderer passes by at Thiepval,
Sees the leaves are turning brown.
Some time later, he returns
And sees them falling, twirling down.
This wanderer’s a worried man,
With superstitious fears.
He thinks aloud, “These leaves, they fall.
The trees are crying tears.”
“The trees, alive, have lived so long,
They watched the First Great War.
The Second, they saw too, such pain!
They, the suffering bore.”
But I think that this man is wrong.
The trees would not have seen this pain.
Land was flat in the First, not fought for in the
They would not have ever seen the slain.
(until the dead were buried deep;
unless their seeds lay dormant - asleep.)
That doesn’t stop the crying though,
The trees would understand
That many lives were lost at war
Upon their grassy land.
So in a sense, the man was right.
Fallen leaves are tears from great height.
But are these tears falling fast in vain?
Do you, my friend comprehend the pain?
Never forget - you may just regret.