‘The Maid That Waits For Me’
© Joe Canning 2017. All Rights Reserved.
Oh tonight the moon is looking down,
As my comrades wait with me.
As I write this letter to the love
That shares my hopes and dreams.
There’s a silence here except for prayer
In our waiting for the dawn.
God help us when the whistle blows
It might be our last morn.
There’s a madness in what we must do,
When the early birds make song,
As we charge across the open ground;
To kill some mother’s son.
I’m sure his thoughts are just like mine
On the far side of the field,
I pray to God that I’ll see again
The maid that waits for me.
I pray she gets this letter
That I write with trembling hand.
For it goes with my undying love
To my flower in sweet Strabane.
I trust she’s praying for me now
As with God I make my peace
As we pray with our sad Padre
Holy water hits my face.
I cannot sleep, for I’m afraid
And I don’t want to die.
And somewhere down the trench a piece
I hear a young man cry.
He’s asking for his mother
As we greet the morning glow,
Our Captain say’s “get ready lads,
It’s almost time to go.”
Once more I think of Eileen
And our walks along the Foyle,
I see her face before me
And the vision brings me joy.
I cross myself and bid farewell
As I cross this Flanders field,
In the fervent hope I will survive
For the maid that waits for me.
See: Joe Canning’s Poetry Page on Facebook
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