Too many graves, too many fields
filled with human failure's yields.
All those crosses in neat rows
where the dark green grass now grows.

Call them soldiers, call them men
each of them was someone's kin.
All were pawns in someone's game,
each death different yet the same.

They fought for politicians' ends
yet died on the behalf of friends,
meeting their fates in lands turned bloody,
giving all for their best buddy.

To those who made the sacrifice,
in hedgerows, deserts, fields of rice,
we each owe a lasting debt
and must be sure we don't forget.

Too many deaths, too many wives
left widowed by the loss of lives.
Too many orphans, too many lame
Too many scarred by inner pain.
Too many are the tales of woe
Too many
Too many
too many..............

* in memory of those who paid that ultimate cost