Colin F. Jones


Love is not kindness if it is the truth,
and is not love lest it shares its proof.
For a lie told in concern is still a lie:
Better love’s truth – brief kindness to deny.
Wasted are words that will be never read,
For upon their birth they lie already dead.
And none do know of strangers when they die:
Nor hear the lost and abandoned babies cry.
There is no honour, no dignity nor pride,
In a soldier’s heart who caused his foes to die,
Just a pale low flame that burns deep in the hole,
In the deep, deep darkness of his wounded soul.
It is not for ourselves that we do sadly weep,
But for those we lost, and those we put to sleep.