The Aftermath Poem by John Scully

Cast them not in shadows down
To steps steepened at sorrows gate,
For eyes avert that do not dare
To see mere mortals weep.

Cavernous avenues of death
Once happy carefree walks,
Meander breathless now in searching cries
For friends deep down beneath.

Guillotined from friend and foe
A fitting place for weeds,
Long lost the smiles of faces young
In the shambled carnage of shameful deeds.

Though letters from the front are lost
And cherished kisses missed,
Memories of you 'my soldier boy'
Grow more and more daily.

So dark the silent days
As eyes upon the crosses dim,
Angels sepulchured in ghostly white
Stand and stare as strangers might.

And in the distant fields of poppy red
We few that are left walk out,
And cling, not in sweet farewells
But in prayer to God that our boys died well.

And from somewhere far away
In the killing fields of Picardy,
A cautious note from those who did believe
That it would all be over by Christmas Eve.