Across the realms of no-man’s land,

lie six foot, muddy, makeshift trenches,

where troops await each new command,

behind the rows of barbed wire fences.


The thirteen year old drummer boy

plays on, despite the sniper’s glare,

whilst military tanks roll on to destroy

the front-line, through strategic warfare.


Conscripted men become new fodder

for the noble cause of war,

fatalities are wide and broader,

against the canon’s mighty roar.


Those who manage to survive,

face the trauma of shell shock,

carbon monoxide, seeks to deprive

the mind, which starts to run amok.


In Flanders Field, the white tombstones

are lined by name, rank, regiment,

a resting place of sacred bones,

propped up by wreaths of sentiment.


Let us remember those that served

the Commonwealth for King and crown,

a minute’s silence must be observed,

across the land in every town.






One thought on “The Great War

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