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A warrior’s memories by Peter John Ainscough
I wept for hell, I wept for guns, I wept for men,
For mud and sweat, for pain and blood I wept.
I ran and shot and fell and died again;
But never slept.
I hacked the enemy’s flesh with bayonet spear,
I cut his flesh and spilled his bowels and blood;
My warrior’s assegai surmounting fear,
Death’s mighty flood!
I screamed with anger, rage and so much pain;
I wept with anguish and with broken heart
As I shall never in my life repeat again;
While men depart.
How many now are left, how many gone
In useless cause, for everything’s the same
As ‘twas before this fiercest fight began.
What was his name?
The man whom once I killed and now lies here
Forgotten; though we say we’ll not forget,
His name’s unknown since, in that fateful year,
His fate was set!
This useless war was called futility.
Maybe the victims those who still live on,
Considering what has passed, the dead hostility
Of battle done!
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