They line up again in Rows, now,
As Naïve smiles are lost
To German guns,
Brother side-by-side,
With Fathers to keep them in line.
Grinning white faces,
As they sign up
For the honour of war
Or so they’re told
By a man
Who fights not with rifle
Not with Bayonet
But with a glass of wine,
With cheap words
As he sends men to die.
The flash and fire
Of lost potential,
Wasted ideas,
Unfulfilled lives,
Lost to a sliver of lead,
Yet still they stand together,
Brace men one and all.
Though bones be broken
And blood covers many a blade of grass
Their spirit fights on
And here again they line up, row by row,
While six feet above them the poppies grow.
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