He Joined at 16. Was dead by 18.
_ _ _
Their bodies are marched
Through the streets, clothed
In red, white and blue.
Their bodies are quiet
Lying cold, conveyed as
A token from the feud.
The carcass is parched
In a published emotion,
Looking like boys: they are just eighteen.
Poem I wrote in response to the recent deaths of service personnel on duty in Afghanistan.
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