The General, a poem by Phil Cline

The General, a poem by Phil Cline

My General


Up along the hill

On worn and weathered knees

He strived headlong, stubborn,

Leading us to our destiny.


Our Captain shouted No! to him,

Warning of shocks and shoals,

Of arrows, pins, shards and blades,

Of bent, broken flags and escutcheons.


And all us foolish boys

Who marked his words,

Respected his histories,

Who stepped from platform to train


And left our fair loves

Huddled down against the rain,

Who laughed cadence to each other

Loud, hearty and brave,


Only to be vanquished

On this foreign hill,

To lie red in the mud, to stretch crooked

Across these rocks in death and misery.





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