Dear Diary, Sometime 1916Edward was made a junior officer and transferred to the Royal Artillery. He sentme some of the war poetry he began writing last year. The first one I received was InMemoriam. It read:The flowers left thick at nightfall in the woodThis Eastertide call into mind the menNow far from home, who, with their sweethearts, shouldHave gathered them and will do never again.Edward ThomasThe poetry he wrote was so beautiful. I knew he could write like that, but how did he doit in such a time of depression. His next poem was much longer, but just as good. Itread:This Is No Case of Petty Right or WrongThis is no case of petty right or wrongThat politicians or philosophersCan judge. I hate not Germans, or grow hotWith love of Englishmen, to please the newspapers.Beside my hate of the Kaiser is true love:-But I have not to choose between the two,Or between justice and injustice. DinnedWith war and argument I read no moreThan in the storm smoking along the windArtwart the wood. Two witches caldrons roar.From one the weather shall rise clear and gay;Out of the other an England beautifulAnd like her mother that died yesterday.Little I know or care if, being dull,I shall miss something that historiansCan rake out the ashes with perchanceThe phoenix broods serene above their ken.But with the best and meanest EnglishmanI am one crying, God save England, lest We lose what never slaves and cattle blessed.The ages made her that made us from dust:She is all we know and live by, and we trustShe is good and must endure, loving her so:And as we love ourselves we hate her foe.Edward ThomasEdwards poetry was so moving. But what did all this mean....Dear Diary, April 9, 1917Edward was killed by an exploding shell at Arras.It seems as though this diary was a form of therapy for my mother. She did nothave to talk to anyone else about what she was going through. My mother decided toshare her diary about my father with me. I ...
