THE ROAD TO HIGH WOOD
It was on the road to High Wood
That we found him lying dead,
The soldier boy in khaki
With the broken, battered head.
No more at dawn or sunset
Will he hear the bugle note,
Nor thrill to taps ascending
From a trumpet’s silver throat.
It was on the road to High Wood
Where the maple leaves were burned
That the lad went out at morning
And nevermore returned.
There are many roads to High Wood,
There are many roads to Hell,
And the fields of wheat are rotten
Where a thousand heroes fell.
NIGHT WATCH
His ship is on the ocean
But the sailor lad’s ashore,
And deeply, deeply sleeping,
He’ll waken nevermore.
We buried him atop the hill
That overlooks the bay,
And one there was who walked from there
With slower steps away.
And one there is on watch at night
Who wears the strangest smile,
Because he sees a specter lad
And talks with him awhile.
Across the world he comes to me,
And far horizons dim,
And I await the day when I,
Instead, shall go to him.