November 2018

                  Their voices all are still - none yet remains;
                  Their Present now is History's sad tale,
                  A tale of battles, strategies, campaigns,
                  And youth consumed by slaughter's ceaseless flail.
                  
                  From sepia prints they look us in the eye,
                  Together, cocky, smoking, mate by mate,
                  They grin at us, tin helmets tipped awry,
                  But tears rise from our knowledge of their fate.
                  
                  We cannot glorify the war they fought,
                  We cannot hate the men they met in strife,
                  But rather, we must honour those who sought
                  On every side to barter death for life.
                  
                  A century has passed since that cruel war,
                  They rest in silent sadness, evermore.