The snipers on the rooftops, don't care about your kin,
No religion can save you, when your muscles gives in,
Poison chalice given to hold, the bile waters does fill,
When you were faced with, fight or they will kill.
A trophy for your country, you defend all the land,
Salt water to madness edge, as fate holds your hand.
A disposable asset of war, you life just a cost,
More ready to replace you, when asset is declared lost.
The snipers on the rooftops, to oblivion it does send,
Sounds of heavy mortar fire, when will this ever end.
Hide behind stacks of body's, as the bullets strike near,
Bite down on your lip, dare not show any fear.
A trophy for your country, you fight for our lives,
Back home you do leave, your children and your wives.
Old lie brings a tear, there is no war glory,
Dulce et Decorum Est, pro patria mori.
Idea taken from the Poem Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen
S Walker another powerful poem!! well done!
H Mann very moving, a sadly true piece of work Craig
H Mann worth reading again, very poignant