|Best Poems About / On SOLDIER
Soldier, soldier, off to the war,
Take me a letter to my sweetheart O.
He's gone away to France
With his carbine and his lance,
And a lock of brown hair of his sweetheart O.
Fair maid of London, happy may you be
To know so much of your sweetheart O.
There's not a handsome lad,
To get the chance he's had,
But would skip, with a kiss for his sweetheart O.
Soldier, soldier, whatever shall I do
If the cruel Germans take my sweetheart O?
They'll pen him in the sail
And starve him thin and pale,
With never a kind word from his sweetheart O.
Fair maid of London, is that all you see
Of the lad you've taken for your sweetheart O?
He'll make his prison ring
With his God Save the King
And his God bless the blue eyes of my sweetheart O!
Soldier, soldier, if by shot or shell
They wound him, my dear lad, my sweetheart O,
He'll lie bleeding in the rain
And call me, all in vain,
Crying for the fingers of his sweetheart O.
Pretty one, pretty one, now take a word from me:
Don't you grudge the life-blood of your sweetheart O.
For you must understand
He gives it to our land,
And proud should fly the colors of his sweetheart O.
Soldier, soldier, my heart is growing cold --
If a German shot kill my sweetheart O!
I could not lift my head
If my dear love lay dead
With his wide eyes waiting for his sweetheart O.
Poor child, poor child, go to church and pray,
Pray God to spare you your sweetheart O.
But if he live or die
The English flag must fly,
And England take care of his sweetheart O!
Read more poems from Maurice Hewlett >>>
A Soldier's Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
and on the wall pictures of far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this house was different, so dark and so dreary,
the home of a soldier, now I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
'Santa don't cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
my life is my God, my country, my corps.'
the soldier rolled over and soon drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
and we both shivered from the cold evening's chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark, night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, 'Carry on Santa, it's Christmas day, all is secure.'
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
'Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.'
Read more poems from Wade Blade >>>
He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
Read more poems from Vera Sidhwa >>>
I see it on the news.
Stories of soldiers being killed.
I always prayed that it's not you,
I wish I knew that you were safe,
I don't think that I can handle your death,
You are my soldier, and you
Mean everything to me
The bombs exploding, I pray that you aren't hit.
That would cause my world to end.
I needed you in my life.
I pray that you would come home soon.
I know it was your dream
To be a soldier, protect the innocent
Tell me this, is it worth dying for?
Who is the enemy you are fighting?
Dead scared child with a gun?
Made me see that this war is useless
There is no hero, only a grief in a war
I wish war would end soon
For you to come home, I missed you
I barely do anything these days
My heart stops, when I hear the door bell
Afraid to see a soldier on my door step
Telling me my worst fear, not seeing you live
Just heard the news of soldiers being killed.
I prayed that it was not you, my soldier.....
Read more poems from dush swaranga >>>