Too many were to mourn.The war <br />Had taken all the young, but left <br />Behind a few who stumbled, blind <br />Or lame, some, faring worse, bereft <br />Of sense, writhed in screaming pain <br />And cursed their God. The shame will last <br />Through poems scratched in bloody line <br />By this dead lad, now, though passed <br />Away, he'd used his searing muse to pen <br />Accusing rhyme of each fierce horror, <br />As he captained men, who then <br />With him were brought to early dust. <br /> <br />Hard death then made another claim, <br />Fame this bard, alive, would never know. <br />Just days before the very final blast <br />He fell, the ditches he'd despised <br />As living hell, were holding him at last. <br /> <br />Trusty words preserved in clarion verse <br />Still cry, that lying yet, where long ago <br />They died, such spilled blood serves to <br />Teach a truth, that learn from war we must. <br /> <br /> <br />Tribute to Wilfred Owen - 1893-1918 <br />Killed 4th November,1918.<br /><br />Fay Slimm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-remembered/
