What comes next ... more poetry

After spending the last 30 days writing a poem a day, I cannot stop. I will provide a new entry every day (though I may repeat those I especially like).

Hill 145

                On the 100^th anniversary of Vimy Ridge

Oh Mother dearest

I hope you and Father are well and Jacob is helping you plow the fields for planting.

Was there enough snow to fill the creeks and ponds? Is there warmth for seeding?

                I miss you all.

My boots were heavy from the mud, caked on like wet Ontario clay.

My coat was damp, bringing in the cold rather than keeping in the heat.

My ears echoed from the constant barrage of the enemy’s guns. (I’ll be deaf by morning.)

My eyes have seen more death, more ripped-up bodies of fellow soldiers

                Than I ever want to see again.

And yet I must go on. I must fight on

Until we capture Hill 145,

Until their guns are silent,

Until we have won the battle

                Of Vimy Ridge.

© Catherine Woods 2017