TO GLORY MY BOYS

TO GLORY MY BOYS

The crimson sky salutes the heroes of war,

God’s glory shines from where Buzzards soar.

The bullet didn’t distinguish between rich or poor,

Lest we forget them, on that distant shore

 ***

Old foes and new, the reapers scythe still yields,

From city to mountain and even ploughed fields.

The dead and dying scattered without any shield

Whilst the blood still flows, the loss never healed.

***

The watery winter’s sun caresses the cold,

The winds’ icy breath chills the bones of the old.

To glory my boys was how it was sold,

But, the slow walk to death was never paved with gold.

Phil Hall       Nov 2012