Existing only as a line

on a memorial,

I know only he is gone,

not how he lived.

A body lost

in endless trenches,

filled with wasted youth.

His nation needed HIM

to be torn

from his family

to a far off war and

a forgotten death.

His blood mingling

with those

murdered at dawn

by their own side,

in front of the

same trenches.

Too frail to fight,

Baker was a butler.

Serving salmon

on silver

to the families

of heroes

who shot the

'coward' youths

before their

trembling comrades.

An honourable war,

being a gentleman

to the gentlemen.