In the streets rage the Mongols on their monstrous campaign -

a firestorm of blood through the streets of Beijing.

She tastes the hot wounds as the arrows bite deep

in the softness of flesh on the fields of Agincourt.

Her chest thrills to the thunder as the cannons proudly speak

from the English oaken castles in Aboukir Bay.

She savours the taste of the musket's soft smoke,

standing shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor’s guard.

She hears the sharp crack as the grapeshot flies by

and the Eagle is thrown down under the Wellington boot.

Entrenched then in mud, feeling the bones under her feet

She sleeps under the soil of far Flanders' sweet fields.

And now, in the present; though soundlessly silent;

She sobs in despair for those fallen friends.

All this she saw on the library bookshelves.

Previous Version

In the streets rage the Mongols on their monstrous campaign -

a firestorm of blood through the streets of Beijing.

She tastes the hot wounds as the arrows bite deep

in the softness of flesh on the fields of Agincourt.

Her chest thrills to the thunder as the cannons proudly speak

from the English oaken castles in Aboukir Bay.

She savours the taste of the musket's soft smoke,

standing shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor’s guard.

She hears the sharp crack as the grapeshot flies by

and the Eagle is thrown down under the Wellington boot.

Entrenched then in mud, feeling the bones under her feet

She sleeps under the soil of far Flanders' sweet fields.

And now, in the present; though soundlessly silent,

she sobs in despair for those fallen friends.

All this she saw on the library bookshelves.

Notes:

I always struggle when trying to write in a regular metre - but rather than have my usual difficulties with iambic pentameter where I usually only manage four iambs per line I thought I thought I’d try and write something with a 3/4 rhythm.  I was semi-inspired by My Papa’s Waltz (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43330/my-papas-waltz).   The idea was that the 3/4 rhythm would give a drive and momentum to the poem that pushed it forward to the final resolution, rather like the waltz.  I don’t think it completely works, but I do think the 3/4 rhythms add something usefully out of the ordinary to the poem.  The final line breaks the 3/4 rhythm to mark the return from the imagined world to the real one.

Version 3:

She sees the Mongols on their monstrous rampage - 

a firestorm of blood through the streets of Beijing.

She tastes the wounds as the arrows bite deep 

in soft French flesh as they fall at Agincourt.

Her chest throbs to the thunder as the cannons proudly speak

from the English oak castles in Aboukir Bay.

She chokes on the taste of the musket's soft smoke,

standing shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor’s guard.

She hears the sharp crack of the ricochet above

as the Eagle is crushed under Wellington boot.

Entrenched then, her feet feel the hard bones beneath

as she wallows in the mud of Flanders' foreign fields.

She cries out -  speechless and silent;

unable to voice her despair for her fallen friends.

All this she saw on Oxfam's  bookshelves.

version 2:

She sees the Mongols on their monstrous rampage - 
a firestorm of blood through the streets of Beijing.
She tastes the wounds as the arrows bite deep `
in soft French flesh as they fall at Agincourt.`
Her chest throbs to the thunder as the cannons proudly speak
from the English oak castles in Aboukir Bay.
She chokes on the taste of the musket's soft smoke,
standing shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor’s guard.
She hears the sharp crack of the ricochet above
as the Eagle is crushed under Wellington boot.
Entrenched then, her feet feel the hard bones beneath
as she wallows in the mud of Flanders' foreign fields.
She cries out -  speechless and silent;
unable to voice her despair for her fallen friends.
Her husband joins her amongst the bookshop shelves,
'Come on, love, let's go home, the rugby's on in an hour.'