Walked they did, through the heat; the stark
Bare country they didn’t know.
Pointed they did, hungry cold guns
To faces they knew not.
Cried they did, at corpses
Belonging to those men they never met.
Yet that hell ground, that spiteful haunt
Belonging tothe Devil’s padded foot.
Away, from you, from life, from all.
Left them; scarred forever.
Where are they now?
You ponder, never caring before,
Who fought, who crowed
Life’s young lads,
They took that bullet;
That fatal blast.
Some are marked with shadows
Unnoticeable to those they pass.
Others, noticed by wounds;
Of limbs long lost and skin re-sown,
Yet some you won’t meet for they are gone
Soul flown, to the land of mighty God.
Stop right there and make a mark
A token to those that have departed,
A line perhaps to the grieving gal’s
A song, limerick, even a status will do,
Give something, anything, a little will suffice
To those that gave their lives for you.