In Whitehall stands a monument,
A column wrought in stone.
Empty as that mother's heart
whose sons did not come home.
It bears the dates of two world wars,
And three carved words I read.
A politician's shibboleth
About "the Glorious Dead"
Standing in November's rain,
No glory came to mind.
Perhaps that word held meaning
in another place and time.
They have passed from living memory
those soldier boys of thine.
Now bronze reliefs and marble wreaths
Recall their deaths to mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well-imagined; ironic; Attractive irony and moral import[; well-joined. Easy read; Has the Greek Anthology sort of pithiness, with a dash of Victorian sentimentality.