The war memorial stood at the bottom of the hill
In the shade of towering trees, bordering
The graveyard.

A  pinicle of white marble
Above a patch of names
Inscribed on mottled granite
And opposite the sloping
Steps to the bay.

Was it James, his youth wasted on war,
Holed and shell shocked
Who marched passed
Twelve years before my birth?
Before this spot marked
A pleasure beach
And spades were
Brought not guns.

So to remember those
Brutalised from wars
Marking their place in this passing.
And to James
I hope you brought children
To build castles
In the sand.

Love Mary ***