In solid rows.

In Solid Rows The Gravestones Stand
Their March Is Stark Across The Land,
Each One A Mothers Bitter Blow
Grown From Greed Politicians Sow,
A Wind Of Hate Righteous Fanned.

Always The Youngest To Command
And Lead Across The Bloody Strand,
Meets Just Like Him The Enemy Foe
In Solid Rows.

Throughout The History At Hand
No Lessons Learnt, No Death Is Grand,
These Wasted Lives Will Never Grow
To Manhood Underneath The Mow.
Grassed Over See The Gravestones Stand.
In Solid Rows.

Poetry Survivor
Rondeau