The Bugle Calls

A poem by Michael Bust

The bugle calls the shout goes out, over the top lads off you go,
Across the deadly battlefield, to fight the waiting foe,
With hearts on fire and trust in God, towards the enemy they all sped,
But the bullets flew and many fell, the ground turned bloody red,
Together they stood to do their duty, looking after one another,
Though many never made it back, to see sibling, father, mother.

The bugle calls the medics come, the wounded they rush to save,
They do their best against all odds, but for some it is their grave,
The surgeons stitch and mend the wounds, and often limbs are lost,
But the injured tommie lying there, for life he bears the cost,
His body racked with pain and scars, his mind affected too,
And all this he has undergone, for the sake of me and you.

The bugle calls carry on the fight, were here for country and King,
And when the battles over, we'll all the anthem sing,
But not for many they did not return, for them no nights of bliss,
No laugh and joke or pint of beer, no more a lovers kiss,
With heavy hearts they carry on, with little food and water,
Follow orders that's what we must do, like lambs taken to the slaughter.

The bugle calls we must go on, it's just another day,
Bombs and bullets everywhere, God don't let me die they pray,
Then calm sets in its quiet now, but the shout goes up alas,
What is the cloud that now appears, good Lord it's mustard gas,
“Get on your masks” the order comes, there is no time to wait,
A scramble to get them on but sadly, for many it's too late. 

The bugle calls the news is good, reinforcements they are coming,
More food and supplies are on their way, some men even started humming,
Then a strange noise appears and gave a scare, not on land but in the sky,
What is that contraption in the clouds, an aeroplane flying high,
The RAF has just been formed , a force to help the fight,
Another team to give more strength, it was a wondrous sight.

The bugle calls the Navy's there, to fight the battle too,
And not just the enlisted men, civilians are in the crew,
Without supplies the war cannot end, their vital job so needed,
But so many also lost their lives, their grave the deep sea bed,
Not for them the solid earth to rest, but a coffin built from steel,
No more to tread the land called home, or eat a hearty meal. 

The bugle calls the end seems near, no longer we must fight,
Peace talks they have begun at last, the truce it is in sight,
And when it is all over lads, we will always have in mind,
The horrors of this awful war, and those we left behind,
No more must man take up their arms, and slaughter one another,
Learn lessons from this dreadful thing, and live like man and brother.

The bugle calls as we look back, and from church along the path,
The people march with bands in front, towards the cenotaph,
And there give praise and thanks to many, as the bugle plays Last Post,
Then silence falls while we remember, to those we owe the most,
Their sacrifice and those left behind, our feelings we must not hide,
And to show the respect that they deserve, wear our poppies with great pride.

For all their suffering and the pain, everyone of us should say,
Not only once a year, make every day Remembrance  Day. 

When the bugle calls. We will remember them.

See also: For the Likes of Me and You

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