Colin F. Jones


When we found unity with the men we killed,
With maturer minds, which were then unskilled,
We suffered the pain of unexpressed regret,
And we suffer still, for we cannot forget.
It is not self-sorrow but real wounds that bleed,
Thoughts of dead comrades plants a painful seed,
Deep in our souls where we know it’s wrong,
Where only thoughts of righteousness belong.
Will our soiled souls be pure enough for God,
Or yet be buried with our bodies in the sod,
To decay and waste in the bowels of Hell,
That all the Devils and demons know so well?
Or will a light from heaven cleanse our soul
And make us pure; and make us truly whole.