Ode to
the Allied Dead
(Europe, Winter 1944, 1945)
The sky was dark, the blood was red;
The light was stark, against the dead.
Rockets and guns, missiles and Huns,
Bodybag nuns, fire-like suns.
The snow was cold against my hand,
The soldiers bold who fought the land.
The dead were stiff, the blood was ice;
As from this cliff, the men are mice,
That fight and kill for worthy cause.
The dead are still, no others pause.
The chatter loud, from yonder guns;
The soldiers proud, that fought the Huns.
Though quiet now, in yonder fields,
The freedom won still brings forth yields.
-Daniel Routh
Where this poem is being published