. Daddy came home from “the war to end all war” And seemed, at first, one of the lucky ones. He looked exactly as he had before, His flesh untouched by bullets, gas, or bombs. But not his memories…soon enough, we found The things he’d seen and done were always there, Like sappers mining underneath the ground, Till he collapsed to bleakness and despair. He’d smile as he watched us kids at play, But then a change would come upon his face: And then we knew that he was far away in Ypres, Verdun, or some such nightmare place. Children are wise: we understood it well: Daddy came home, but he remembered hell. . . David Whippman is a British poet, now retired after a career in healthcare. Over the years he’s had quite a few poems, articles and short stories published in various magazines.