Who could not but shed a tear,
The lists of nations and regiments,
The longer lists of ranks and names,
All lost, unknown and unmarked.
The scattered graves in the fields,
Marked and buried where they fell,
Honoured in death,
More so than in that short life.
The unknowns rest next to names
In death where all are equal.
I hope there is comfort in numbers,
I hope that you didn't have to walk
Alone and unknown...
Now gazing forever over the water,
Ghostly in the mists,
Wraiths upon their battlefields.
Etched upon the walls
And scratched upon village greens,
Monuments to lost souls,
Souls that spent precious few years
In the Country they fought and died for,
Buried in a foreign field as a Century passes.
Names honoured behind a rail
Crested and guarded with iron lions
The irony is not lost as we honour you daily
And shed silent tears in your memory,
Though we never knew you.
Would it make you happy to know
That we didn't forget you?
That Britain's sons are honoured still?
That you achieved immortality in death?
All so young and all gone within seconds,
Minutes and moments of one another.
Row upon row that mark out a battle,
Famous now in history but here and now
The reality is in that inscription,
Known unto God.
