wasted

Young men march in uniforms

that they wear with pride

sent off to the trenches

to take all in their stride

try to cross no-mans-land

many corpses wide

calling for their mother

with dying sobs they cried

fighting for a freedom

the survivors are deigned


graves stones by the million

in religious segregation

simple bland inscriptions

that lack poetic imagination

now heroes that have fallen

to safeguard a nation

politicians heads held high

in false admiration

speak weasel words of comfort

tor a wasted generation