Mother please don’t cry for
me, for I have gone.
My pain’s
embrace has left, though you feel it
still.
Turn your anguish to joy, for
I am at peace.
In our trench’s arms I lie; a
sweet release.
And softly then the tender
rain falls like blood,
Upon our upturned faces that
see no more.
Lovingly sweeps the red mud
from sightless eye,
With purest tears wrought
from God’s own summer sky.
And our trench fills with a
profuse torrent then,
Carries remains of its hopeless
protection.
Earthen walls, sandbags and bodies,
everyone.
Seeks to escape the carnage
we have become.
We’re but empty vessels of our
former selves,
The flow that seeks to wash
away our remains,
Blushes as it turns an even
redder hue.
Shamed witness of those, who
know not what they do.
Mother, the foe were like us;
all someone’s child.
No malice in their hearts; there
was none in ours.
Around their feet I beg you,
let no blame, pool.
Cheap were our brief lives;
sent here by those who rule.
We were as but leaves on a great
tree grown old.
But as the leaves fall, so
shall the strong oak too,
Weakened, helpless to stand
against folly wind,
Roots consumed from within by
men who have sinned.
Leaders who knew the cost in our
blood and lives,
At their spotless boots must all blame be now piled.
Vain, they called the piper, bade
us pay the tune,
In granite should their shame
be forever hewn.
So to grave we go; I hope for
the best cause.
As symbols of the imprudence of
conflict,
Peacefully safe with our
friends, men, brave and true.
War that took so many……
. . . .
Begun by so few.
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