Full Time is Called
Sorry, I've had this sitting in my files for ages. very few people have seen it so I decided hang it out for comment. I love poetry and wish I could write it as well as some of you... This is one of the few that I find worthy of calling it a poem.
This poem was first conceived when Albert Felstead, the last man who played football during the Christmas Truce(1914) passed away in 2005 at the age of 104. The first two lines were written by a friend JayCee as an idea for a poem. I filled in the rest using her prompt. I was imagining that all those who participated in the famous football game that took place between the trenches on Christmas day were waiting in the afterlife for the last man to join them so they could resume the game again.
Full time is called at last
The final player is no more.
All the ghosts of no mans land
Will celebrate the final score
As the last man leaves his mortal
Shell to walk on heavens pitch,
Where old friends and former foe
Wait to play the game once more.
The field is ruled with poppies red,
The ball as golden as the sun.
Deaths ditch is lined with Edelweiss
And Angels sing The New Jerusalem,
To celebrate that glorious day
When they laid down bayonet and gun
And ran upon a no mans land
to play footy just for fun.
6 comments:
What a neat idea! I enjoyed this poem.
My eyes filled with tears even though this is a joyous poem. As a child born shortly after the end of world war I, I was familiar with the story and loved it.
A very effective (and affective) poem!
hey nice take on the prompt
very very nice - the imagery of poppies and edelweiss and angels is wonderful, and i really like the celebration theme!!!
wow... when you decide to write one,,, you take no prisoners!!! this was excellent!!! and i don't even like football!!!!!!
Top One! This rings bells!
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