A brisk haze lingers on the Somme before daybreak
silhouettes parade in ritual fashion;
marching spirited fallen soldiers
wistful baritones, tuning from a war long gone
to us.

Hymns are hindered by densely hazed ridden ether
fog and song colliding as death-powder and musk once fused.
Departed still combat; with duty engraved on mounds
Crabgrass; the life adorning the buried ***** remnants
accustomed to solemnly choirs - oscillating with familiarity
as some were there, tasted the ****** fallout of war.

Battle won and the song sweeps over a lush eerie Somme
a hum helpless to the will of turmoil filled winds
collide leaves tunefully - rustling to the beat of soulful outpouring
pulsing, from roots stemming into the maze of entombment
flocks of black sparrows disperse from the mesmerizing murmurs.
Brass choir can now be grasped:

This is where we lie
patriot's graved abroad
for this is where we died
flesh duly thawed.
To the Somme - we tie;
to linger forever flawed
until our home - we fly.

Our homeland! We sigh
for 'tis reason we fought
Splintered and bled dry
that death us wrought.
Let us glide o'er hills high
sever the strings so taut;
that grace then bid us bye.