Colin F. Jones


Behold the man is anxious his face is strained from war,
The shells they keep on falling and there cometh many more!
See how he fends the bullets, with his heart and soul, away,
Yet the more he seeks to do so, he plunges deeper into the fray.
Alas mark where his arrows, like hawks that pursue the Dove,
Fly towards his own fair fortress to torment and scar his love.
Yet she is clad in armour and she knows how blunt the arrows are,
Though she weeps to see them flighted towards her loving heart.
Distressed he turns away and back to back they wail and cry,
But tomorrow will be better for none of them will die.
The sun rises on the morrow but the night will come again,
And the shells will keep on falling to cause a lot of pain,
And the arrows will keep flying but from a lesser bow,
And in the end the string will snap to allow love again to grow.