The Toll

Onward and upward they go their way, to
War and carnage, hopefully not to stay.
Their wives wait in earnest for news of them,
While their children walk in the wastes of fen
Ridden gardens, untiled by the men's hand;
War has ruined man's hold on nature's band.
What do they wait for but a cold callous
Being that rides to them on wheels of malice?
Still the sun rises and sets no more, in
The hearts of mothers waiting is a din.
Yet as the sun sets there appears white clear
Upon the horizon four wheels of fear.
What hopes have they of lessening their pain?
Did their son's die for some vain full gain...

                          The Toll, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012