The youth walk to war
That Kings and Kingsmen bid for -
They sold dream to be martyr
To young soldier
Every crusader
Aches to have accolades
Of medals and awards
More, much more
Than being there as lover or Dad;
In their march
Little do they know of pain of death
Or ignominy in after-death
That brews out of senseless bloodshed,
And wreaths when they come to be laid
Will be chosen for places of rest
Earmarked and epitaphed graves
To honour not the departed braves
But ones whose bid
For power
Was seen as sign of leader -
He wilfully and wastefully
expended the youth
That country and
global community had.
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