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Come Dance With Me

COME DANCE ance with me will you please?
She just smiled rejecting me and walked away:
Without even a thank you or an if you please.
She was good looking girl very lithe and trim;
My interest in her was no momentary whim.
So I walked away disgusted and a little grim.

I stood and watched her progress on the floor,
She was so lovely it would be a travesty to ignore.
To see her struggling to try and match her partner's steps,
How could she have chosen a man who was not so adept?

Now this girl had a friend, who was just as pretty.
Her name was Betty, she was alone and looked forlorn.
She was not the girl for me but I needed the opportunity to show.
My dancing ability that was just as good as any dance pro.

I took the girl in my arms to perform the dance with ease,
She was very good and certainly knew how to dance.
It was a brilliant dance, a slow fox trot if you please.
She and I traversed the floor with the greatest of ease.
At its conclusion there was reason to be pleased.
So like a gentleman of yore I escorted from the floor.
And left her with her friend who had denied me before.

As I walked away the orchestra began to play 'Jealousy#
The tune of the haunting strains of a well known Tango.
I turned around and there she was who said hello.
I took her in my arms, she was gorgeous and light as a feather.
She certainly could dance as we demonstrated the tango together.
Being perfect in every way as we started to sway.
This was a dance of joy and to tell you how I felt;
Her movements were clear and smooth as svelte.
Then a twist we swayed into an open promenade.
Oh yes she could dance and prance.

I loved this girl who I danced with for two years
It was war time, but she had her fears?
Wwould I return for her after the war ended.
Well I did but she was no longer there.

Alas that was the end of a war time romance,
That started all because of a dance,

By W.F.Gray

THE 1000 BOMBER RAID ON CAEN

My eyes were wide open to the vast array of golden corn laden land that unfurled as far as my eyes could see.

I could not bear to close them because of the array of man killing weapons that were within my view.

Hundreds of tanks and recently used wooden gliders; lay empty in front of me.

Two or three days before, these had borne desperate men who were destined to kill their adversaries and it was probable that so many would have died in the process.

Was I afraid or were we all afraid?

There was no time to dwell upon our fears, all our eyes were open to the heavens above where there were hundreds of aeroplanes carrying their death dealing bombs to shower on the enemy.

Suddenly there was the scream of a death dealing bomb wending its way to earth.

The cry was “It’s one of ours.”

So right they were, my eyes were closed, yes I was afraid.

My eyes were once again wide open to the havoc it had caused to my comrades and friends who were lying dead or maimed to fight no more.

From that day on, my eyes would be forever open to the fear of war,

By W.F.Gray

T H E B A T T L E F O R C A E N

The Battle, where will; it begin?
Where will it start?
Will we be pounded with bombs?
Or will it be a constant barrage of high explosive shells?

Mount up, mount up was the cry.
It was then the bombers flew by,
Were they ours?
Or were they the enemy?.

The waving corn we treat with scorn
On track vehicles we are borne
Tragically the corn is cut to the ground.
Never to reach the mill to be ground,

How long will this battle go on?
No more for those now dead and gone
Still we push on and on.
Our objective is just about in sight,

To win it we must fight
We often saw our steeds of iron,
Bearing brave men into battle
So many being reduced to burning caskets;
Carrying brave men who will fight no more.

Now darkness has descended,
Our objective is still defended.
We ‘stand to’ at first light
How many will be ready
to carry on the fight.

Now the golden corn begins to sway.
As our enemies guns carve the way.
Dust debris and fire and there is the shout.
Too often we hear the cries
Bale Out, Bale out.

THROUGH THE MUD
THROUGH THE BLOOD
TO THE GREEN FIELDS BEJOND

See the tanks onward they come.
With a clatter clatter what a hum,
Still the rumble sounds more and more,
Like advancing bulls that snort and roar,

Tanks, trunnion wheels, and tracks,
Uproot trees and tear down banks.
On thro waving cornfields, orchards and woods,
With careless abandon; turning them into seas of mud.

Mothers solemnly line the street to stand and watch
Is it my husband or my son standing in the hatch?
With a cheery wave from left to right
Could this be the day before the fight?

Turrets turn with angry stares
Pointing their guns everywhere
Iron monsters painted to stop the rust
Now they make a pincer move and then a thrust.
To obtain our target the violent action take we must,

Tanks are not the steeds for the knights of old
It is a carriage only for men so bold
Decorated with shields of mail,
Their fiercesome fire power makes men quail
Then the tanks begin to move
They have so many things to prove
Driver left, driver right
Straight forward into the fight

Onward, onward through the mud,
Advancing onward to shed their blood
Within the crews there are deep bonds
Alas many lie in the green fields beyond.
W.F.Gray

Iam a veteran writer. I spent six years in a tank regimentduring WW2. I have written many stories and poems, I will be trying to prmote them through this company in the very near future.

A warm welcome from the BookRix Team :-)