Sassoonesque

There's not a great deal to say about this one - I was interested to see if I could write in the style of another poet convincingly, in this case the great Sigfried Sassoon.

Sassoonesque (or We Never Learn)

Now children of the Isle, arise,

To fight and die on foreign fields,

To seek triumph underneath foreign skies,

And find relief that only death yields.

Quails the breast of most stout-hearted

At their task; now they must fight

To finish that which others started,

For this they march on into night.

As tares are cast into the fire,

So cast aside are England’s sons.

Wasted, spent to feed war’s ire;

“Defeated, unvictorious ones.”