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The Pilgrims Progress
Two hundred veterans gathered to go away,
To the old battlefields far off on island and sea,
Was a time when these tormented souls had no shame,
About their pasts in young innocence and free.
Now they gather to stand in memory of fallen kin,
On windy mountains and southern shores,
With broken minds and mutulated limbs,
To mourne their survival of the terrible wars.
Asking for forgivness on this, their anniversary,
For acts that they can only tell,
Of battles fought with fire and steel and purgatory,
With poppy wreaths laid in honour, born in Hell.
