“I’ll give you my life and my glory to share
If you bring me a dowry a soldier can wear.”
I drew a white plume
From the wing of a dove
To wear in his cap
As a symbol of love.
He flung down my feather in rage and despair:
“Now bring me a dowry a soldier can wear.”
I sewed a green shirt
With a fine, woollen thread
To soften his nights
Far away from my bed.
“I’ll trade your fine wool for a shirt made of hair –
Now bring me a dowry a soldier can wear.”
I brought him a charm,
Newly forged in the flame,
To feel at his throat
When he murmured my name.
He said: “These are fetters my flesh cannot bear.
Now bring me a dowry a soldier can wear.”
I chose a red bloom
As fierce as desire
To blaze at his heart
With its petals of fire.
He laughed and he kissed me as drums drilled the air:
“Now this is a dowry a soldier can wear.”
He took up my poppy
And wore it with pride –
Then left to lie down
With a cold, foreign bride.
Clare Bevan