T he bagpipes' hissing grieves of death S ome gone forever, lest we forget. A crid smells fill the air I nto the trenches if you dare. H orror and fear T he gunshots near. R unning through drills, O f mud and kill. T he blood-red petals, T he shiny medals. T o those who died, I thank you from all of us. - Mary-Kate Cross