Naïve and fresh faced,
sons and lovers,
husbands brothers,
young and brave.
With chest broad
and shoulders high,
of they marched to war.
Killed and maimed in bloody trenches,
In the crimson killing fields of France.
Death and misery all around them,
this their fate to unfold.
And those who lived,
with burdened minds and bodies torn,
limped back to loved ones.
Home to their beloved country.
Victorious in war and peace.
Never to forget.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem