The Steady March

About 3 months ag0 I received a book called ‘Wordsmithy’. One of its suggestions to aid budding writers was to try different and more unusual methods of writing. So, with not a little hesitation, I tried my hand at hymn writing- the result can be found at http://minibakey.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/take-heart-my-soul.html

This time- undeterred by the extra syllables that found their ways into my earlier hymn- I decided to embark on a career as a poet.  So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the poetical musings of the mind…

 

The Steady March

One night in my bed a dream came my way:
An Army striding forth with great banners in array,
The drummers, the riders, the generals and troops,
Like a host of great warriors, fresh in cahoots.

The onlookers await with merriment and hope-
the future too bright for any to mope.
As the soldier train approaches they laugh and they leap,
“An Army most glorious”, they cry, as I sleep.

Scarlet coats, polished buttons and bright shiny boots,
Looking like conquerors in their finest dress suits.
The artillery rolls past with its great brass gun,
The army shouts “Victory” and hope bright as sun.

“Our schemes and our plans- our ambitions and pleasure-
“Surely the worst of adversity can weather.
“With these at our side and their strength our command,
“Why, we can relax and our bidding demand.”

As the procession passes by, there are doubts here and there:
A lace dangling free and a sock most thread bare,
Wrinkles below eyes and furtive stares,
As if some of the army was caught unawares.

But still the force marches and whilst they still do
hope springs eternal like the fresh morning dew.
The folks at the front of the crowd cheer and shout.
But those at the rear cry “Warning- Look out!”

For they see the danger most suddenly, at last,
For they see the troops are moving too fast.
“Stop! Stand Still! Stay with us for a while!”
The cries go unheeded- they’ve marched on a mile.

As the dust settles down on the old cobble stones,
The sun starts to set over the crowd and their woes;
They’ve lost their dear champions: their youth and their zeal,
Their comfort, security and their sure seal.

While the troops were a’ marching and the band was a’ playing,
The future was freedom and self was enticing.
But now all is over and deathbed anon;
For it is Time, you see, which has marched on.