Whist we remember those who died, spare a thought, too, for those who survived and returned home, gravely injured, to something less than a hero's welcome.
REMEMBER US
Remember us, the dead that live,
who now resume our former lives.
Disfigured, maimed, in mind and flesh,
we living-dead do not forgive
the lies we marched to, young and fresh;
those orders, lost in dark archives,
that sent us out to die like rats
for what? Pro patria, they said.
Pro patria, my arse, we thought,
half-drowned in trenches, deaf as bats,
half-starved, downhearted, feeling naught
but resignation, fear and dread.
We won no medals, no hurrahs
were raised for us when we returned.
War-ravaged men, afraid to sleep,
our lungs destroyed by German gas,
we envy comrades buried deep
while we, who did not die, are spurned.
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