War dead

In 1983 my new husband and I stood in a small churchyard in Wales looking sadly at a row of shiny gravestones each had the age of the young man each one had been on the Galahad. I remembered thinking that somewhere in Argentina someone could be standing beside a row of graves or a memorial for equally young lads from the Belgrano.


See my name all you who pass by
As you are now so once was I.
I was a son whose mother wept
I was the husband whose wife kept
A light in the window lest I should come
To find my way once more back home.
I was the brother whose sisters tears
shall wash my stone
I was the lover who will not come
the one who left you here alone.
I am your love
the memory that will not die
My name it matters not anymore
Rhys or Ramone we are the same
In death, a memory and nothing more

MHTBL

Time passes the futility and pain of war never does