The poem
Although my blood I've shed In war's red wrath, Oh how I darkly dread Its aftermath! Oh how I fear the day Of my release, When I must face the fray Of phoney peace!
When I must fend again In labour strife; And toil with sweat and strain For kids and wife. The world is so upset I battled for, That grimly I regret The peace of war.
The wounds are hard to heal Of shell and shard, But O the way to weal Is bitter hard! Though looking back I see A gory path, How bloody black can be War's Aftermath!