MAMETZ WOOD REMEMBERED

That futile war, never forgotten.
the Somme a hundred years on.
Battle lines drawn, no man's land,
brave men preparing to die.

Birdsong fell silent, that fateful day,
slaughter, it surely did follow.
Machine guns nesting, deep in the wood,
barbed wire protecting the enemy.

The 38th Welsh led that fatal charge,
their orders to take Mametz wood.
Chaos abounded, their lives sacrificed,
like lemmings, to their holy maker.

The mortars rained down,
a shell hole, one's only safe haven,
Bodies piled high, deep in the mud,
as blood flowed, a deep poppy red.

Although stripped bare, by bullet and mortar,
Mametz wood will live on forever.
A graveyard for heroes, all Welsh to a man,
their sacrifice, never forgotten.

Welsh dragon today, faces the wood,
tearing at wire, where heroes blood flowed.
A memorial now guarding their souls,
its colour a deep poppy red.

"This poem is dedicated to the brave men of the 39th Welsh
who fought at the disastrous battle of Mametz wood during the
First World War. R.I.P"