WW1 Poem
I go to bed thinking of my dad and what he’s doing I always assume He’s digging trenches to make me happy so I know he’s still alive.

I miss my dad so much and he’s missed 1 of my birthdays and for my birthday my mother gave me a small statue of him holding a shovel I knew he never dug trenches he was on the front line with big gun a thought came to me like a dream he had died fighting for my country.

I asked my mother if he was dead she told my he was very ill and there was a 1 in 1 million chance of him surviving I crossed my fingers, hoped that he would survive and come home to me
I cried myself to sleep.