It was grey and overcast as we arrived.
We passed through the gate and gazed sombrely at the scene.
To our left were nine alone, standing apart, smartly erect, evenly spaced,
Looking out over the hundreds of round-topped headstones before them,
Their badges telling of the regiment to which they had proudly belonged.
Leaving them for now we moved downhill and found a solitary German grave,
An angled top marking it as different, the stark simplicity saying “I am the same”,
Touchingly alone although close among kindred spirits for eternity.
Moving onwards we passed them slowly, British, South African, Indian,
All together, all silent, being watched over by the nine.
Back up the hill we again reached the nine, standing proud, spotlessly clean.
At the top of each stone the stark words explaining their isolation,
“Known to be buried in this cemetery”.
In spirit watching over their comrades, in body lying with them,