The Eleventh Hour

The eleventh hour

The eleventh day

We think of those

Not here and say

We think of them,

Those mother’s sons,

All quiet now,

With silent guns,

And wonder what

They all were for,

These bloody, pointless,

Killing wars.

And still they stand,

Our silent men.

They will not need

To fight again.

They are at ease,

They are at rest,

They are at peace,

They are our best.