Thundering guns have ceased their cries;
The stench of death has gone.
Groans of the dying are long since past
But the memories live on.
Each mother’s child was laid to rest
Within this foreign soil.
Each youthful life was torn to shreds
Before its full life’s toil.
Now in the killing fields they rest
Their crosses, side by side,
Whilst other sons and daughters sail
Upon man’s warring tide.
Copyright on all my poems
My father - Battle of Somme May 1918. He returned home luckily.