...to end all...
the first day of July 1916the idea of honourable battle
drew it's last gasping breath
on the fields of the Somme
we slid and slithered
up the sides of the trenches
meeting a merciless hail of fire
meat to the grinder
butcher and baker
candle-stick maker
innocent young working boys
scythed down in their thousands
the extermination of a generation
their corpses left to rot
in the thigh high muddy remains
of the French countryside
betrayed again by gaudy peacocks
arrogant and cowardly
strutting their stuff
in the capitals of Europe
Poetry by Wumbulu
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Written on 2015-06-15 at 20:01
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