Every year they are sent out and cheered on… leaves fall to the ground… across the grey pavements strewn… the news bulletins roll and call… civilians giving money to young men and women in combat fatigues…
There are dates… 11/11… 9/11… 7/7… 11/11… 11/11… and onwards… to the cenotaphs and the white halls and houses… year after year… so that everyone must know… suit lapels stained with a red wound… sweaters punctured by a crimson splash… so we must know again… and line up… and sing… and bow our heads…
…fall to the dread drumbeat… marched down… trampled… forgotten… again…
MW Bewick 