Brave men stand there shivering, asking why they’re in this hole
As they look over the parapet they’re told over there’s your goal.
In the cold light of dawn, they see their fellows beside them
Hearing their orders from which the bloody carnage does stem.
The whistle blows, brave men cry out in courage, in ever lasting dignity.
They charged across broken wasteland, ignorant of their place in history.
The metallic rattle of machine guns echoes across the field.
Brave men cut to pieces, forever afflicted, never to be healed.
Poppies now grow in blood-soaked fields where death was met
And we return to brave men’s graves in memory, lest we forget.

Brave Men, by Sam Hufton