‘Honoured ever be their name
bruit the courage of the slain.’

In the land of the loyal where brave souls sleep
The willows in silent homage weep
The song of the birds, the new-mown grass
The words of the fallen who speak of the past…
What stories of courage these heroes could tell
Of the friends who lived, of the friends who fell
Of the battles they lost, of the battles they won
Of the demons they fought in the hot desert sun.
To thirst, and to sweat, in the heat of the sand
To hold, or to cede, at the word of command.
The doubts, the anguish, the rats and the flies
The truth, that is ever, the slave of the lies.
And what of their dreams that would crumble to dust
Of the peace, that is theirs, in the cold grey earth?
What more could we ask, what more could they give
Who gave of their youth, that others might live…
The chapel is cast in a pale blue light
An owl, or an angel, wings off in the night
The leaves will still rustle, the beck will still run
The roses will open and bloom in the sun…