Dawn service and the sky is red.
'Stand fast', they say, 'Salute the dead'.
The bugle sounds a long sad note
And a chill creeps under my overcoat.
A minute's silence now decends
A time to think of long-lost friends,
Of a jungle trail and desert sand,
The old men stand
So still their quiest parade.
The last, clear bugle call is played.
Now tea and biscuits - like a cup?
Look! On the hills, the sun is up.
LEST WE FORGET!
Poetry All Sorts by Max Fatchen