William H.A. Willbond MSM, CD


Yes I have marched on Roman Roads in several foreign lands.
I have driven on red dirt soil tracks out o’er the African sands.
Into ancient cities and through historical old temples I’ve tred.
In hovel-like hostel flea bag hotels, I’ve oft laid my weary head.

I stand in our bunker’s defensive sand bagged front slit trench
Then with notebook I sit and rest on an ammunition box bench.
I picture the Crusade Knights jousting to St Hilarion’s Castle front;
In my mind’s ear I seem to hear lances on shields as they crunch.

Napoleon retreated from Moscow leaving his sleigh up at Soest;
I have seen that and, of course, places he stole from the most.
Statues from Baalbeck are stored now in the Paris’s Museums
Along with the treasures of Egypt, got by pillage, so it seems?

In the Army, soldiers travel o’er the whole world wide.
Our Troops march with their buddies showing Regimental Pride.
We represent our Country Canada, for its humanitarian human rights.
That is what we train for and if need be, why we fight.

I remember when I started in far off lands to roam;
I missed my dear old Mother and my cosy Ottawa home.
Of course I was a teenager, first time away from Mom
Serving there with NATO, we all were afraid of the Atomic Bomb.

I’ve seen rows and rows of crosses all across Europe’s green;
WW1 and WW2, Dead Canadian Soldiers now fill that scene.
And now our troops o’er in Afghanistan are fighting once again;
Again we suffer casualties amongst our women and men.

The notebook notes from the bunker and thoughts of history
Have put the muse back to work with some current poetry.
I woke up again this morning with these thoughts in my head
And I said a silent prayer for our wounded and our dead.