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Epitaph for a lost friend

by Chris Pitts

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1.
I heard a newborn baby cry, I watched an old campaigner die, I asked myself why, why, why, I can’t get an answer, When the last man has laid down his gun, When my last serenade has come, When the last game has run, Into His glory day I want ancient wings, I want ancient strings, why? Because nobody wants to die Leave youth young glory day Hiroshima’s atom bomb Child tin soldiers of the Somme Who knows where they have gone I can’t get an answer The chimneys’ heat the cruel master The burned young feet heart beating faster No rhyme or reason just complete disaster In the human circus crimes Chorus The sirens of the crooked mile Wail through my past I see and old friend smile What were we there on that sundial I can't get an answer What ancient hand controls the night If there’s a hope beyond my sight Shine shine, shine, your light On one who knows the game of sin Chorus

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released February 1, 2020

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Milborn House Colchester, UK

Chris Pitts writes in the tradition of English landscape poets. He uses the medium of ‘Symphonic folk’ to give a sense of Pathos to his work.
Although a lot of his work is melancholy it is by no means all like that, the thumping fervour of Arnold Plum tells us that he can be tongue in cheek even when the lyric is serious.

Mark Surrudge

Castle Folk
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