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The Sword

There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call.
There's of the sword, a story to tell;
And of men - how the dice may fall.

In the east ‘neath the rising sun,
With his family gazing on,
In a uniform smartly fitting,
Stood an officer of Nippon.
At his side swung his sword - katana,
And to war he would soon be gone.

From his people were gifts bestowed:
A small book of prayers to take,
And a camera to record
The conquests their son would make;
So his family's photo he took;
In the book he would keep the keepsake.

The sword of his samurai forebears,
Fitted with ancestral blade,
Temper and balance so perfect,
Forged true - by true craftsman made;
There on its handle so ornate,
Three cherry blossoms were laid.

Sharkskin it inlaid the handle,
Tassel showed officer class,
Perfect the fine crafted pommel,
Shone bright its high polished brass;
Proud was he of this fine weapon;
On to his sons it would pass.

Triumphant in battle it served him
Until the fighting it turned
To defeat for the forces of Nippon;
Here was their might to be spurned:
By another Imperial Army
At Balikpapan, as Borneo burned.

There as the officer bravely
Brandished his sword in the fight,
Gunfire and shell fire around him,
Smoke of war - oil and cordite;
Surged on the valiant diggers,
Hopeless the Japanese plight.

Never surrender - his motto,
There with his comrades he died,
Amongst the corpses - the carnage,
A digger sergeant he spied
A sword in the officer's dead hand,
Its scabbard lay there at his side.

Weary of death was the digger,
Still for some reason he took,
There from the dead man's shirt pocket,
A stained and a tattered small book -
It fell open, and there on the first page
Was the picture the officer took.

The digger he took up the sword,
And he slipped the book into his pack;
His young eyes showed no trace of feeling,
He strode off and didn't look back;
He'd hardened himself to war's horror,
But humanity he didn't lack.

So now when a visitor questions
The history of that old sword,
Says the old man - it's there to remind him
When nations with others are warred,
How soldiers who fight for their country,
May take bloody death as reward.

There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a Western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call,
And a bloodied book, beneath the sword
That tells of a soldier's fall.

In memory of:
QX13210 Sgt A.N. O'Brien,2nd 31st Bne.7th Div AIF

and of an unknown Japanese officer.

poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Added by Poetry Lover
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