Bydand
¶ 1
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A hundred years ago,
at ten o’clock, or so,
a German waved his arms,
walked into ‘no man’s land.’
The English held their fire
(‘twould draw the Generals’ ire).
I guess you’d have to have been
there to understand.
¶ 2
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For a few peaceful hours,
they disobeyed the Powers,
these young, brave fighting men,
collecting fallen friends,
standing with enemies
a moment, while at ease,
recalling that upon which
everything depends.
¶ 3
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They put down bayonets.
Some smoked their cigarettes;
took time to stretch their legs
from weeks of hiding.
They posed for photographs,
played pipes, shared nervous laughs,
improved their dugouts free from fire
with all abiding,
¶ 4
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then played a football match
What joy’d have been to watch,
above the trenches,
between the lines,
and in the midst of war,
I’ll bet they kept no score.
Only a rematch one day
every man’s designs.
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