Old men they
Who, past their prime, with faded eyes,
Gaze through time to the killing fields
Covered now with tidy graves in regimented rows.
Old men they
Who, weeping over absent years, resurrect the life
Of friends and comrades lost,
Remembering the names indelibly engraved in heart and stone.
Old men they
Who, now that greed and self smothers all the
Old beliefs of country, King and home,
Wonder who will know - or care - when they are gone.
(c)D.Rayburn.
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