Poor Saps

One could not have dreamed
The blood that ran,
The horses that screamed,
The bodies on sand.
No victory was won,
What have we done?

Oh, the bravehearted fools,
Into the churning   battle
Galloped the sovereign tools.
Slaughtered like droves of cattle
Reckless leaders tossed the dice
Pushing pieces on maps.
Incompetence led to sacrifice.
O the brigade, those poor saps.

Bayonets bared,                                 
Aimed at the unprepared.   
Fumbling six hundred
Charged the motion
At the army that  wondered
Why a sea would fight an ocean.

Traded ten for two,
And lost all that they knew.
Bullets flied
As the British died.
One can’t help but wonder why
All those soldiers had to die.
“A mistake”, was the reply.

The Name of Honor
One must ponder    (implied)
The value of pride
Over those who died
And commanders, for what?
You have gained naught.

In war every man has worth,
But now 200 wasted.
To be buried under earth.

Fumbling in the darkness
Accused of drunkedness
A noble cavalry
Killed by Bureaucracy.
Hail the Light Brigade.

Honor the men who died
But never stop questioning why
Even immortalized as heroes
The wise tell the story,
Their honor is nothing     
without a victory.