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.