One Hundred Years ago

Postman, Milkmen, farmers
and more
Left for the battlefields
of Mons, unknowing, unsure

Some were kids no more
than sixteen
Nothing could prepare them
for all they’d see

A living nightmare would
they encounter
The battle, closer, ever
louder

The Lee Enfield’s
their friends
That would see them through
to the end

Some frightened, others
fearless
A few already lost
like ghosts, restless

Thinking on home, of
decisions made
And their future’s
laid

If only they knew
what was to come
No lost father’s
or sons