In their ditches

by | Apr 8, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

Our world
Sends its sons
And daughters
To die
In their ditches.

Their world
Sends their sons
And brothers
To die in
Their places.

Devils and ghosts
Close to touch
Worlds apart.

The same flesh
The same feelings.

We come again
A fourth arrival
On the plain
Of three defeats.

We fight
(Far from home)
For Enduring Freedom;
They fight
(From their firesides)
For liberation.

The blood
Of our sons
The blood
Of their sons
Stains southern dust
The same crimson.

Blow your pipes
And honour me;
Fly a kite
And remember me.

No civilisations clash
On the plains
In the dust
In the fields.

Just sons.


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