letra de the send off - david moore
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down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
to the siding-shed
and lined the train with faces grimly gay
their br–sts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
as men’s are, dead
dull porters watched them, and a casual tramp
stood staring hard
sorry to miss them from the upland camp
then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lamp
winked to the guard
so secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went
they were not ours:
we never heard to which front these were sent
nor there if they yet mock what women meant
who gave them flowers
shall they return to beatings of great bells
in wild trainloads?
a few, a few, too few for drums and yells
may creep back, silent, to still village wells
up half-known roads
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