It sits in its home
on Parade
its seats as clean as
on the day it were made

Its Armour shines bright
like it looked on day one
but its many a day
its sat in the sun

As it lined up presented
by those men in the ranks
facing the mortars, the mines
and the tanks

As the generals gave order
and it fired the first shell
it started the barrage
and sounded like hell

But now, its retired
Amongst army friends
and teaching those lessons
never really ends

But note as you pass it
as you look back
the hole in its armour
from the enemy attack.

A poem about the Field Gun, that fired the first shot of World war I on display at Imperial War Museum North © Jun 2014, Brian F