The Romancing Poet - Helen Hamilton

Granted that you write verse,
Much better than I,
(Which isn’t saying much!)
I wish you would refrain
From making glad romance
Of this most hideous war.
It has no glamour,
Save man’s courage,
His indomitable spirit,
His forgetfulness of self!
If you have words –
Fit word, I mean,
Not your usual stock-in-trade,
Of tags and clichés-
To hymn such greatness,
Use them.
But have you?
Anyone can babble.
If you must wax descriptive,
Do get the background right,
A little right!

The blood, the filth, the horrors,
Suffering on such a scale
That you and I, try as we may,
Can only faintly vision it.
Don’t make a pretty song about it!
It is an insult to the men,
Doomed to be crucified each day,
For us at home!
Abstain too, if you can,
From bidding us to plume ourselves
For being of the self-same breed
As these heroic souls,
With the obvious implication
We have the right to take the credit,
Vicarious credit,
For their immortal deeds!
What next?
It is an outrage!
We are not glory-snatchers!

Helen Hamilton