They disembarked in 45

And no one spoke

And no one smiled

There were too many spaces in the line

And gathered at the cenotaph

All agreed with hand on heart

To sheath the sacrificial knives

But now

She stands upon southampton dock

With her handkerchief

And her summer frock

Clings To her wet body in the rain

In quiet desperation

Knuckles White upon the slippery reins

She bravely waves the boys goodbye again

And still the dark stain spreads between

Their shoulder blades

A mute reminder

Of the poppy fields and graves

When the fight was over

We spent what they had made

But

In the bottom of our hearts

We felt the final cut