Page 94 - The Gonzaga Record 1985
P. 94
THE FOURTH OF SEPTEMBER 1916
Soldiers' faces, tired and hard,
Wounded men, battle marred,
Gallant fighters lying dead,
Killed with just an ounce of lead.
From the sky pours the rain,
From the dying, cries of pain.
The surrounding landscape, once so grand,
Replaced by a death-filled barren land.
But a battle is still being fought,
From the trenches, dead are brought,
The weary doctors work in vain,
The resting Privates count the slain.
The muddied trenches slow the men,
Every hour they bury ten.
Throughout the day, throughout the night
Continues this ever-pointless fight.
And now seventy years on,
We remember those dead and gone,
Who were killed by bullet, gas or bomb,
In the now lush pastures of the Somme.
Cianin Twomey (S.3)
86
Soldiers' faces, tired and hard,
Wounded men, battle marred,
Gallant fighters lying dead,
Killed with just an ounce of lead.
From the sky pours the rain,
From the dying, cries of pain.
The surrounding landscape, once so grand,
Replaced by a death-filled barren land.
But a battle is still being fought,
From the trenches, dead are brought,
The weary doctors work in vain,
The resting Privates count the slain.
The muddied trenches slow the men,
Every hour they bury ten.
Throughout the day, throughout the night
Continues this ever-pointless fight.
And now seventy years on,
We remember those dead and gone,
Who were killed by bullet, gas or bomb,
In the now lush pastures of the Somme.
Cianin Twomey (S.3)
86
