Skip to main content

7 February 1916

By February 7, 2016September 7th, 2018No Comments

The Answer

To-night, the wind blows hard.
Bending the trees as it passes,
With the scent of the bush of each gusty breath,
As it sweeps the quivering grasses.
And my friends are laid away
From this world that they liked to live in,
And maybe to-night they are watching me
Over the walls of heaven.

They liked the sport of the day—
The crowds, the laughter, and the races.
The clear blue sky of a summer noon,
And the dear familiar places.

They liked the spring with its buds,
And the summer with roses blowing.
But yet they could give them up,
And march with banners flying
To the thick of the fight and the battle’s din,
And the groans of strong men dying.

They sleep to-night in the silence
From all the joy and laughter.
Their dead hands beckon across the sea
For me to follow after.

So to-night on the wind I hear
The distant sound of drumming,
And I answer the call of those who fell:
I am coming—COMING—COMING!