A Hundred Years on Least We Forget

A Hundred Years On

I stand here and look, at your white tombstone
You died near this spot, you were not alone
Long rows of crosses stand mute in the sand
Row upon row like a mourning band

Brief inscription carved upon the cross
To your family and friends a capital loss
You died way back in nineteen fourteen
Buried here in your olive green

They said it was the war to end all wars
Fought out here on these foreign shores
Now red poppies grow in fields around
Where a whole generation lie in the ground

I hope you died well, and I hope you died clean
Or was painfully, slow and obscene
Who said words, as the lowered you down 
To join comrades in this ghostly town

Did you have wife or sweetheart waiting for you?
With undying love faithful so and true
Or are you face in an old photograph?
Or just remembered by this epitaph?


Copyright © Alex McEwan

Tags: sad, deep, dark,