Sixteen million killed, in World War One,
Sixty million in 'The Second'.
Often just lads, with a dream of adventure,
Where Service and National Pride beckoned.
The 'misrepresentation' of their prospects,
That masked what they were destined to endure,
The hidden truth of what lay ahead,
The unimaginable horror.
Since the 'War to end all wars',
We've had many new 'Campaigns',
Each the source of a family's grief,
A young soldier's repatriated remains.
Lifetimes lived, so much time has now passed,
Those of us who now reside,
In this green and pleasant land,
Never knew those Men who died.
So, the least that we, 'The Many' can do,
Is to stop... and pause to remember,
The sacrifices, of 'The Few',
On the 11th day of November.
© Copyright 2019 J R Easton.
All Rights Reserved