The Day the Soldiers CameA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe
old man sat at his cottage door As
the soldiers came to town, And
laughed as the trucks went rumbling by, Laughed
as the soldiers frowned, They
carried their rifles high that day, Marched
past him by the score, And
scowled as the old man mocked them there, As
they waged their futile war! The
tanks sat threatening in the square, The
people stood in the street, Watching
the flood of khaki power, The
boots on the marching feet, The
General stood in his jeep that day A
scroll in his scrawny hand: ‘It’s
never too late to liberate The
folk in this tortured land!’ But
then a ripple of laughter came From
the townsfolk standing there, They
seemed to enjoy a local joke, A
joke that they wouldn’t share. The
soldiers were tense, bemused at that, They’d
rather the ripple of fear They’d
felt in a hundred similar towns Since
the war broke out that year. The
General barked, ‘Enough of that! Where
is your National Pride? We’ve
come to free you from servitude And
a great deal more, beside!’ But
the old man, sat in his cottage seat Had
let out a great guffaw, And
the soldiers dragged him out of his chair, To
face the General’s scorn. ‘Why
do you laugh, old man,’ he said, ‘I
could shoot you in your pride!’ ‘I’m
sure you could, and probably would As
you scorch our countryside! But
what price honour, when history Ascribes
your deeds to your name, Will
shooting a poor old peasant man Ring
loud in your Hall of Fame?’ ‘Then
why do you laugh?’ the General said, ‘The
picture here is grim! These
soldiers fought, and died and bled, You lack respect for them!’ ‘This
town has sat two thousand years,’ The
old man said at last, ‘Was
here when Hannibal’s elephants stopped To
feed on the mountain grass.’ ‘The
Roman Legions passed through here In
their conquest and their might, And
Charlemagne’s Grand Army For
a single, baleful night; Even
Napoleon Bonaparte Conquered
this little town, For
years, we had the Fascisti, and The
Nazis held us down.’ ‘But
where have their soldiers gone today, They
lie, each under his mound, While
we sit back, as your troops attack And
thrive in our little town. You’ll
only be here for a moment more Two
lines on a history page, Just
one more army to pass through here In
your arrogance, and your rage!’ The
army was there for a week or so, But
then, they had to withdraw, The
old man laughed as the soldiers passed, He
let out a great guffaw; The
Rebel General brought his tanks And
a speech that he had planned: ‘It’s
never too late to liberate The
folk in this tortured land!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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