Lest we forget

I can see them falling in no mans land.
Brave young men, marching to a certain death.
How did they give such orders or command.
To waste so many lives without regret.
Often have I thought of what Owen said,
That to their masters, they were,just cattle bred.
Used and abused and to their slaughter led,
Butchered like animals,until they were dead.
Today I stand on verdant green, French soil.
Where small white crosses point proudly to the sun,
But underneath such anger and turmoil,
Why to them this inhumanity was done.
And know that, despite all their horror and pain,
We repeat it over, again and again


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