Remembrance Sunday

In deep,drenched trenches did they wait To confront the foe Mud-infested and rat-swarmed. Lit fags,shielded by begrimed and cupped hands, Passing from mate to mate Against the booming background Of the heavy guns. Some shells bursting overhead Others throwing up clumps of dirt and burning flesh. Stifled screams of pain Which distant ears deny As they dread the cry "Over the top" Into the blazing barrage and the limb-ripping wire. Now in quiet,restful trenches do they lie Stark white crosses Populating the ground Still and peaceful Grim reminders of a war We have time to regret And wish it had not come to this That so many had to give their lives So selflessly to save our future And lose theirs.