In muddy trenches, amid putrid stenches,
Lost, in some foreign field;
With enormous pack, strapped on tired back,
Our brave young boys were killed.
With just a rifle, they tried to stifle,
Onslaught, from the opposition;
With bullets flying, they never stopped trying
To overcome the appalling condition.
Khaki clad men, every now and then,
Dared to raise their heads to spy,
Observe the situation, of the opposing Nation,
Who were attempting to blow them, sky-high.
Bodies littered the land, where once, heroes did stand,
Hand to hand combat they’d fought, and lost;
Corpses of colleagues and friend, that had tried to defend
Their position, at personal cost.
Just young men in life, who’d left children and wife,
When they received their instructions to go;
Mowed down by the score, officers sent in more,
Bayonets fixed, when ammunition was low.
Thousands went into battle, herded like cattle,
Knowing not what to expect;
Loved ones, deeply concerned; many never returned,
We are forever in their debt.
The least we can do, is honour the few,
That survived, to tell what took place;
And on 11th.November, take time to remember
Those that vanished, without a trace.
Bodies never found, blown from the ground,
Never to be seen again;
Contemplate, and share, two minutes of prayer
For our boys; our heroes, our men !