War poets are weary; they’re weary of war
War poets aren’t war poets – not any more
They’re cool connoisseurs of conflicts gone cold
They’re battle-hard veterans war cannot scald!
War poets aren’t burning with anger no more
They’ve swapped no man’s land for sun by the shore
War’s cruel, callous killing no more strikes a chord
From playing at war games war poets are bored
War poets, to war zones, no longer return
For blood-spattered battles they no longer yearn
Their pens, once outspoken, indignant and loud
Like guns, have fell silent, like soldier in shroud
War poets have wandered o’er flowerless fields
Where poisonous poppies the soil no more yields
They’re sick of the shrieking and screaming of shells
Ground down by defeats like those damn Dardanelles!
War poets are weary; they’re weary of war
That’s savage, like Nature, in tooth and in claw
But as poets of peace they’ll never be known
Till the ogre of war has been overthrown