No one could say why they were there
the brigades the battalions and some
in neat formed lines in neat clean uniforms they had come
they marched on the parade grounds and through the big cities
they trained in the fields out front of towns
they ran through the wires to get to their goals
they fell to the mud all mown down
and their neat uniforms were ragged and torn 
their clean faces running with blood
the muck of the battlefield filled their boots and their minds 
their assault waves were a simple flood
the pretending of training faded from view 
as their numbers fell to the few
the bulllets and shrapnel stopped forward forays 
as they scrambled to avoid injury or death every day
as they cried and they died under the sun
until there were none