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.
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