WILFRED OWEN <br /> (1893-1918) <br /> <br />An Englishman and greatest British soldier poet of World War One. Served in the trenches as a Lieutenant and was awarded the Military Cross. Hospitalised with shell shock back to England in April 1917, and returned to the trenches in October. On November 4th 1918, before sunrise, led his platoon to the West bank of the Sambre and Oise Canal. They came under German machine gunfire and Owen was killed. In Shrewsbury, England, the Armistice bells were ringing when his parents front-door bell sounded heralding the telegram they had feared for two years, <br /> <br /> <br />Young and joyful <br />Stirring his Muse to sing <br />Lilting songs of beauty and love <br />Enjoying afternoon teas on luxuriant lawns <br />Life was melodious <br />Rich, and full of promise. <br /> <br />Then came the call to arms <br />His Country's need for soldiers <br />And he endured Hell in the trenches <br />Seeing things that broke the mind asunder <br />And with soul ripped and bleeding <br />He was returned home on sick leave. <br /> <br />Back again in the trenches <br />His Muse roared against the gore <br />As he penned the folly and madness of war. <br />The plight of boy soldiers dying in the mud <br />Thousands slaughtered like lambs <br />Sweetest flowers of a Nation destroyed. <br /> <br />Briefly his candle flame flickered brightly <br />Before the raging storm extinguished it.<br /><br />Colin Ian Jeffery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wilfred-owen/
