I heard the machine gun's chatter
In the distance came the mortars' roar,
My voice of protest was no matter
I was witnessing the start of war.
I saw the eager faces
Of the fathers, brothers, sons,
As they rushed to take their places
As they hungrily grabbed their guns.
I turned to a widow near me
To commiserate on all I saw,
She could neither see or hear me,
Still grieving from the war before.
– Reg Ravenscroft, Whitecroft.