by | Sep 12, 2023 | Poetry | 0 comments

There are war memorials all over this land,
Silent and cold wherever they stand,
As silent as those who paid with their life,
Left their loved ones, family or wife,
As cold as they ground in which they lay,
Probably in some soil so far away.

Some were called and some were volunteer,
They went off to war leaving loved ones in tear,
For them no choice, no pick and no choose,
They had no idea that their life they would lose,
Obey the order, with comrade, over the top,
No knowing an enemy bullet they would stop.

We have no idea what horrors these men saw,
They had their orders to march into war,
How many guessed that they would not come back,
When stuck in a trench on a night pitch black,
The sights and sounds, carnage all around,
On some muddy, bloody foreign ground.

It’s once a year we officially remember,
Marked on the calendar as 11th of November,
On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day,
We pay homage to their life given far away,
Or maybe nearer home in an ariel battle,
Caught in an enemies machine gun rattle.

Or maybe at sea as a dreadnought fought,
In fatal bombardment their vessel caught,
To the bottom of the sea to be their grave,
No resting place for the life they gave,
Or in the air with no place to land,
Brave airmen made a last fatal stand.

On that eleventh day and eleventh hour,
Memorials wait, come rain or come shower,
They silent stand as those in silence stand,
And respect is paid throughout the land,
Heads are bowed, air pierced by a bugle call,
All think hard on those who took the fall.

On these fair shores or in a foreign field,
Stone stands cold as those who did yield,
They stand, each month, each day, each hour,
Often marked by the red poppy flower,
Throughout the years these stones must stay,
While we mark freedoms price on a single day.

Written by Will Roe 17th October 2021


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