THE CHRISTS OF FROMELLES
In the fields of Fromelles in French Flanders we wandered
And dreamed of the youth which departed from there;
While we wept at the waste of the lives that were sundered,
We prayed God to bless them, their spirits repair.
And we thought of the Christ, of the sacrifice rendered,
The life’s blood that flowed ’til the last drop was gone;
Of the boys that were shredded, who never surrendered,
And died that their brothers in freedom be born.
Other Christs with their crosses a-shoulder presented
Across no-man’s land to Eternity’s gate;
Through the fire and the terror which never relented
They sacrificed all without thought for their fate;
And now Resurrection of a kind is revealing
The artefact signs to a last dying place;
‘Neath the meadows of Summer, red poppies concealing
The signatures, hidden, of a name and a face.
Charles Murray, friend of Re-enactment Marcher
copyright © Kangaroo March
Website by Forge