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Thundering guns have ceased their cries;

     The stench of death has gone.

Groans of the dying are long since past

     But the memories live on. 

 

Each mother’s child was laid to rest

     Within this foreign soil.

Each youthful life was torn to shreds

     Before its full life’s toil.

 

Now in the killing fields they rest

     Their crosses, side by side,

Whilst other sons and daughters sail

     Upon man’s warring tide.

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