“Remembrance is our duty”, preachers scold.

The duty’s yours, not mine; my conscience? Clear.

I’ve stood on duty, rain, hail, freezing cold,

Protesting first the lies, then deaths, then tears.

Remembrance, once in quiet grief-struck thought,

Derides now, that their warm red blood had run.

The flower of our hope’s debased and mocked,

Out on parade with Strictly Tit and B...