{Sarah}

While politicians have spun their lies
Brave soldiers fought, brave soldiers died.
Words sit idly on the page
Sound too self-conscious in their praise.
Though your name is written large in gold
A memorial-stone can seem so cold.
One, who promised much, whose blood ran warm
The piper plays his plangent song…
Though all must wither on the vine
War is cruel in Its design…
And seeks Its victims in the young
The daughter, father, wife or son.
That constant grieving of the heart
That feeling of being rent apart.
Though memories fade with passing time
We all laid witness to a crime…
And, though, how little we could do
We keep, with faith, such love for you.