Tony Grannell

Grave Diggers - Poem by Tony Grannell

We lowered them in an' by the score,
as we have done so oft' before.
In nowt but mud, in sweat an' grime,
with shovels, picks an' pails of lime.

Grey mounds of clay, anomalies
in rows and rows of RIPs.
Of acres long an' acres wide,
where boys an' men lay side by side.

No sadder toil, from morn 'till eve,
from weeks to months, 'tis hard believe.
It was as if, no other than,
to hide the shame, the sins of man.

We wrapped them up in rags an' sacks,
no lumber 'bout to make them casks.
They all broke up, the best of men
an' some, my God, just bits of them.

Knew not their names, their trades or hopes,
famers maybe, gamblers, poets.
Waiters, tailors, a clerk, a smith;
their fate, some graven monolith.

Then came a day when there was none,
'twas rumoured that our diggin' done.
Why tell us now, not years before,
what all this bloody diggin' for?

We downed our tools, to home we trod,
to leave them there, 'neath foreign sod.
An' all for what? Because of them,
of empires' fools an' haughty men.

Topic(s) of this poem: world war i

Form: Verse

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 21, 2018

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