Let us remember them

Raw boys drawn from sleepy hamlets
From village greens and smokestack towns
Raised on dreams of glory
Charging to the fray
On fields of honour and fair play
Queensbury rules, not a knife in the back
Now they paint the muddy fields of France with their blood
Cut to ribbons by machine gun fire
Lungs bloody full of mustard gas
Ears pounded by the ceaseless shells
That fill their dreams now
Pound and smash, they never stop
Barbwire pins them into history
Dried butterflies of a genus lost
They died so we might live
We might say
With knowledge they never had
We do not know the future
But we know the penalty
Should we ever commit such folly again

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