They
are buried in shallow graves,
friends
past.
The
ground is soft:
indentations
and ridges
mark
contours of their faces.
On
the Somme
where
death of friends
was
today’s – and tomorrow’s –
steady
business,
many
bodies were lost.
Relatives
of officers killed
received
a telegram;
kin
of the dead of other ranks
got Army Form
B104-82 –
in
the mail – “within six weeks”.
The
last post, the eulogy,
are
over in an hour,
memories
queue to be catalogued,
grief
observed. But eventually –
no
‘lest’ about it – we do forget.
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