On Flanders fields & Alamein

digger Jesus kneels again

to tend the bloodied brow

of a mother's only son.

Seventeen and never-been-kissed,

his boy child's face now old in pain,

as wrinkled furrows plough his face

and his eyes search endless space.

Digger Jesus kneeling in the mud

his khaki trousers wet with blood

his eyes shed tear drops clear

as the only boy slips home to God.

He closes those sad and empty eyes as peace returns

to the face that grows no older.

He parts the hair and pats the cheek,

and then rises in search of others.

Digger Jesus cannot rest

there's work on every side.

Men war-wearied and depressed,

sick of hate and emptiness.

Well, while that war is long gone by

and few that fought remain.

One or two or three or four

remember their battles of pain.

But there's carrion flesh around us still,

people who yearn and cry out "Will

Digger Jesus come to my side too

and bless the mess of the life I rue."

Who'll wear the slouch hat of the Lord?

Who'll take His Cup to the world adored

by Father, Son and Spirit?

Who'll wear the badge of the Rising Son?

Be Digger Jesus to the world He won

Share the Cup and the Bread He blessed

And through this, His Sacrifice bring them rest?

Wednesday, July 08, 1998

David S. Ayliffe