We That Were Young Poem by John Scully

The Generals smiled,
their swords in hand
and drank a stately port
before the storm.

And the sun about
to rise, stood still
in time to hear
the whistles blow
and listen to the prayers,
hushed, in that bloody air.

With darkening skies
and whispered words
in death-tone sonorous sound
they clamoured, shrouds
over earthly mounds
to onward drive
in God's name
to gain the upper hand.

A yard, no more, before
a bullet felled
a rifleman from a school
somewhere in Ayr.
His number scored
now, in rows of white, turned grey
while ghostly lips unmoving spoke
'How went your day? '