November by Irene Snatt

In Preston Park there is a tank.

Relic of the Battle of Cambrai.

Its rusty treads loom over,

Threatening.

I play with Army buttons,

Unwind some tattered puttees.

On corners of the shopping streets

The blind and maimed

Are selling matches.

Some veterans march.

A brass band plays

Sussex by the sea,

And Mother sighs and says

Before the Marne,

Before the Somme,

She watched the boys in khaki

March away.

By Irene Snatt.