Theirs was a thankless, bloody task.
One droplet of their precious blood
Worth more than arid land or dust.
Many were to fight and perish there
Their loss a cross too great to bear.
They fought a war they thought was just
That proved the measure of their worth.
Death’s shadow always holding sway.
Words, often, sound too trite to say…
While others’ sons are sent to die
How often, men in power, will lie.
And when, at last, the battles won
The sacrifice of young lives done.
Their names are there inscribed in gold
Brave souls who never would grow old..
Heroic in its truest sense.

Another day, a daughter, a son
More broken hearts, more
deaths to come…