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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390720" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Battlefields, All</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390720" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The rhythmic crunch of the marching feet, <br>Down the cobbled roads in the summer heat.<br>Soldiers in serge, so ready and willing, <br>Carriages on trains, their young bodies filling, <br>To battlefields, all, set in foreign soil, <br>Facing the enemy, their prepared plans to foil.<br>Never knowing if they would ever return<br>To the cosy firesides, that would invitingly burn.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390720" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">With hope they travelled and strove to win, <br>To free this world from its sorrow and sin.<br>As they waved goodbye, their smiles were sweet, <br>But inside, each felt a shuddering heart beat.<br>So full of fear, yet called forward to fight<br>An opponent to crush, by day and by night.<br>Oh, What we owe to these men so fine, <br>Who fought with valour on hell’s frontline.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390720" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br></a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ernestine+Northover">Ernestine Northover</a></strong></div>

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