They watch the old men march again
Fewer with the passing of the years
And they all stand there dark suited
And again shed their crocodile tears.
Those old .men may stumble
May take a comrades hand
To help in their progress
Past that reviewing stand,
But they are proud in their dignity
Proud they faced and met duty
And the wreathed Poppy's piled
Add to a strange sad beauty.
The dark suited ones will stand
Witness as others grieve
Until the appointed hour
When they can quietly leave,
While the old men reflect
On the youth that they gave
And maybe reflect in a guilt
That they escaped the grave.
The cold makes a mist
Of each faltering breath
As those old men reflect
The finality of death.
The appointed day will pass
And life will carry on
Lip service having been paid
To the surviving and the gone.
The dark suited ones
With strokes of the pen
Having learnt nothing
Would commit lives again.
These paragons of virtue
Protest to their last breath
So long as it is another
Who is sent to their death.
They watch the old men march again
Fewer with the passing of the years
And they all stand there dark suited
And again shed their crocodile tears.
