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Menin Gate

A monument to the lost, those
Whose bodies were not found,
Listing names of those missing
On The Ypres battleground.
This Land was bruised
Pounded to a battered hell
Under constant barrage of
exploding artillery shell.

A featureless sea of
Stinking clinging mud
Absorbing bodies,
Drinking blood,
From those who fought,
Many not knowing why
They came to fight
And probably to die.

How many fields of green
Conceal their bones
Under regimented lines
Of white gravestones
How many bodies
Were never ever found
How many still remain in
This now recovered ground.

The last survivors are now
All old aged dead and gone
But after one hundred years
That conflict's legacy lingers on.
They play the Last Post still
In tribute every night at eight
In Ypres at the monument to
The unknown, The Menin Gate.

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