They sat, out on the porch,
drank Earl Grey tea.
And smiled at the sheer memory
of what they'd heard about it,
the killing of the boys,
they were quite certain though,
that there would be an explanation.
What rubbish, when an idiot said
that cannon fodder was reality,
you'd always have some smoke where there was fire.
Preserve the liberty of all,
the way of common decency
and file the papers in the vault,
with its statistical equations of a war
that we did have to have, for sure.
Lest we forget, they said, to lock the bloody safe.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anzac-day/
