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Upon the Battlefield (Free verse) by cleverdevice A young Apollo, golden haired,
Stands dreaming on the verge of strife.
Magnificently unprepared
For the long littleness of life.
He has no cause to want life his own,
His is but a short part to play.
Yet when called, he shall dethrone
And leave for fields far away.
His naive duty shows no bounds,
His will is there for else to course
And when he faces warring hounds
His thoughts and cries shall there be forced
To think of life as it was lived,
To dream of love, as he was loved.
To cherish, hold, recieve and give
His mortal, everlasting blood
(the first stanza of this poem was written by Frances Cornford, not me.)
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