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One More Time by Nikki Bennett


My grandmothers had babies, a toddler,

watching their menfolk go to the unknown.

No texts, emails, phone calls,

only fear of a dreaded telegram.


Their neighbours, other women, old-folk

huddled together for comfort,

like their husbands, brothers, cousins,

battling the heat, wet or  cold.

Their men returned; their children grew,

only to give my grandmothers

more heartache, seeing sons at war,

daughters labouring at home.


We are one hundred years along

the road since Armistice;

now I am a mother, grandmother

still praying, praying,

praying hard for Peace

Nikki Bennett
Poet in Residence – Chester Cathedral, for Armistice Day, 11 November 2018