A Dead Soldier’s Poem.
Sir,
Very humbly yet very proudly,
I enclose the poem written by my son
in Tunisia three weeks before he
was killed in action.
Our only child has died for the England he loved.
He was 22 years old,
and was in the 41st Tank Regiment.
He lost his life at Wad Akarit on April 6,1943.
Winifred Annakin, Harrogate.
Springtime in England,
And the green leaves show,
God’s little heralds,
In the young hedgerow.
And the golden daffodils,
And the pale hyacinths,
And the young lusty winds, in the elms.
Springtime in England,
And there’s frolic in the dales,
Where the ewe lambs dance,
And the shepherd tells his tales.
And the patient shepherd dog,
And the busy browsing sheep,
And the cool playful winds, in the elms.
Springtime in England,
Where the pure air chastens,
Cool sabbath evenings,
When the twilight hastens.
And the distant chapel bell,
And the silent village street,
And the rustling of the winds, in the elms.
Springtime in England,
Diamonds in the sun,
Tiny drops each choosing,
It’s couch to lie upon.
And the tiny trembling daisy,
And the four-leaved clover,
And the gentle soothing winds, in the elms.
For it’s springtime in England,
And the one who’s far away,
There’s a dreadful hungry yearning,
For the coming of “the day”.
To see the village street,
To hear the chapel bell,
And the sighing long winds, in the elms.
This poem written by Trooper A R Annakin.
Above his magnificent poem is a touching newspaper
story by his father that speaks for itself.
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