Beneath time swept landscapes
where lost souls tread, you lie
buried; missing, death presumed.
Your lost treasures: your future life
and precious dreams entombed.
Above, no pale stone with chiselled
name marks the place: your grave.
A passive poet, doubtful warrior
you died young, consumed
in a holocaust made by men.
Beloved wife and child bereft
forever haunted by a never
healing sorrow, and unfulfilled
dreams of what might have been.
For you, my unmet grandfather
I carry your genes, your memory.
With these words I mark your life
During the First World War on the 9th of April 1917 my grandfather Clem Walter died during the the Battle of Arras. A stretcher bearer his body was never found; one of 36,000 at Arras with no known grave.