And no-one spoke and no-one smiled
There were to many spaces in the line.
Gathered at the cenotaph,
All agreed with the hand on heart
To sheath the sacrificial knifes.
She stands upon Southampton dock.
With her handkerchief
And her summer frock,
Clings to her wet body in the rain.
In quiet desperation knuckles
White upon the slippery reins
She bravely waves the boys goodbye again.
And still the dark stain spreads between
His shoulder blades.
A mute reminder
Of the poppy fields and graves.
And when the fight was over
We spent what they had made.
But in the bottom of our hearts
We felt the final cut.