Southampton Dock

They disembarked in 45 And no one spoke and no one smiled There were too many spaces in the line. Gathered at the cenotaph All agreed with hand on heart To sheath the sacrificial knifes. But now She stands upon Southampton dock With her handkerchief And her summer frock clings To her wet body in the rain. In quiet desperation knuckles White upon the slippery reins She bravely waves the boys goodbye again. And still the dark stain spreads between Their shoulder blades. A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves. And when the fight was over We spent what they had made. But in the bottom of our hearts We felt the final cut.