They are old now, almost beyond age;

Pushed around, pinned into wheelchairs.

Though chaperoned, they seem unclaimed.

They hold up placards, give a wave

And do their best to summon up a grin,

Before we spirit them toward the beaches

Where, nearly eighty years ago,

They put their young lives on the line

To keep the locals and unborn safe.

We should salute and honour them,

These victims of unswerving law:

Time will come to claim us all.

All courage first retreats to memory,

Whose taut rhythms will tighten

Until they break, or drift, silent, into fog.

All that remains is remembrance,

Our warning from history.