Return to the New Menin Gate (Poem)

When all those young poor troops,
Plodded slowly forth from the rail, 
Final voyage of steamer and train,
Shepher’d them; no more would they run,

To complete this side of the Hun,
But ne’er more this bank of the river,
Would those airmen and goldmen,
Show until new ages quieter,

Their Humu’re’s bright and shined,
Whereto lie our boys bright and proud,
Lost before the outbreak, pandemic,
From ahigh, the cold prideful spite,

That only empires cling to,
A pain founded by ground nation’s
Bones, while all those poor folk,
Lie Lunate to Hamate,

And only cold stone and Gate,
Can warn their eternal horror;
Yet for less then a score more,
Like a storm it broke on the shores,

While all the pheasants, they fled



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