Sandbagged at dawn

Sandbagged at dawn
With bullets torn
Our blood filling the trench

Lying down on duckboards
In a reddened ford
Each mind filled with his wench

Whether young woman, man
Favourite servant or whore
Each man remembers
And reaches to his amore

And clutching nothing
But feeling something
Each man expiring fast
 
All fought for something
All have got nothing
Each man breathes his last

To be replaced with a medal
A penny, a scroll
Survived by memories
In lives left with a hole

For that there is war
Repeating what’s been before
Among what are called victories

Nations built up with tors
The dead’s bones lining the floors
Bodies forming the worm’s vittlery

As it always shall be
Whether deemed legal or not
For one side or for all
This is our history and future lot