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11-09-2017, 03:43 AM | #1 | ||
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WHERE ARE THE BOYS
Where are the boys The looms are still silent are forge, factory and mill. No ale is pulled no crying infant by father lulled. The piano is mute unworn the Sunday best suit. To breathe this air is to breathe sorrow and the tears, behind doors, in the quiet run like rapids, wetting worn photographs that say there is no together, tomorrow. Where are the boys Gone across the cold water gone from mother, wife and daughter for war, as seed to sow, from which the poppy will ever grow, across the verdant field to mark where youth to death did yield They now lie under stark white stone in strange earth that is not of England in rows, neat and tidy above the ground while beneath all are tatters and bone. Where are the boys In the town square on the plaque over there, that left behind tin with his tobacco still within and the flat cap hung on the nail by the tap. Share this: Last edited by Niggs; 11-09-2017 at 03:44 AM. Reason: picture |
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