Colin F. Jones


A son thinks of his Mother when he goes off to war,
Every night when he can rest from his daily chore.
He lies deep in his sleeping pit dug into the ground,
Half filled with water from the rain that relentlessly doth pound,
His mind is filled with images of home and those he loves,
All crowding in to fill his head like a host of peaceful Doves.
But his mind is never free from the threat of death and of fear,
So it all becomes confusion especially when the foe is near.
One moment he is thinking with his Mother in his head,
Then in a flash he’s on the move all thoughts of home are dead.
For all that he is thinking is how he will survive,
By using discipline and training to keep himself alive.
Or even if not threatened he is preparing for the fight,
Which always seems to come when he lies dreaming in the night.