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after the end
standing looking out over no mans land,
where brave men fell where we now stand.
walking on the graves of the dead,
from a time when nobody knew what lay ahead.
weapons of destruction protected with sand,
murder with nobody winning on either hand.
it's hard to believe over 90 years ago,
young men fought, died where poppies now grow.
as i look i can imagine men,
crying, writing letters with a blood stained pen.
it must have been hard to watch your best friend,
recieving the call that God had to send.
looking at the graves today,
were all those deaths a small price to pay?
walking away, i turn my head,
say a short prayer and remember the dead.
who gave their lives to capture the somme,
who died in action and to heaven have gone.