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R.I.P. IKE


In a Normandy field

Under hedges’ shade

The headstones gather,

Shadows edge

Over ageing stone,

Short rows close

Under trellis and rose

Where Briton and Hun

Lie quiet together

Beneath a late sun.


Above the beach of Omaha

Shadows stretch

From cross and star,

Jew and Gentile

Rank and file

Recede in long diagonal

Past lily and pine:

The mown feet

Of American dead

In quiet line.

On the headland tip

Of the Pointe du Hoc

Clay and pebbles slip

Where sightseers stoop

For berry and shell,

In crater and pool,

Where men fell.

The cool inroad

Of time and sea

Rolls the dead into history.


Now white sails tack

Where caisson and jetty lay,

The evening tide,

Over tilting hulk,

Spills bladderwrack.

Sea rise and sea fall

Pile gradual sand

On the Atlantic wall.

From a musty mound

In golden stubble

Juts an ancient gun.

Rust and bramble,

Wire and sea song,

Fuse beneath the setting sun.

Dead and gone

The iron hewer,

The grinning Overlord,

Of Utah and Omaha,

Gold, Juno and Sword.


©Terry Hodgson2020

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