Innocence Poem by Shaun Cronick

Innocence was only seventeen,
Who went to war one day.
A bayonet and a gun he had,
And a butcher bill to pay.

He'd play a tune on the go,
One his mates already know.
It's in the air and everywhere,
When that bugle he did blow.

I'm calling, I'm calling,
As we march on today.
I'm calling, I'm calling,
For there is Hell to pay.

In the dire muddy trenches,
Amidst artillery that wouldn't stop.
Suddenly a shrill whistle blown,
Innocence went over the top.

Bullets cruelly filled the air,
Old and young were not spared.
Endless Innocence among them,
In death's tragedy now shared.

The first casualty of war is innocence.
The second casualty of war is the truth.