It was hard to believe the war was over, it seemed to be all the same

Bitterly cold in a shell-shocked land being beaten by drizzling rain

But the big guns no longer thundered, and no more rat-tat-tat

Robert Graves said it best when he said, “Goodbye to all that”

The fighting continued on till the 11 o’clock bells did chime

Another twenty seven hundred and thirty eight died before they finally called ‘TIME’

Private Augustin Trebuchon, the last Frenchman to die

Carrying news of the Armistice, his death recorded as a lie

All who died the final day, listed as dead the tenth instead

To placate the families of those forever laying in a lonely cold death’s bed

But did it really matter Private Trebuchon died ten minutes before time

Remembering the millions of rotting dead covered in quick lime?

Was nothing less than murder carried out in the name of the State

The architects of such dreadful waste all escaped their deserved fate

Instead claimed as heroes, those who directed behind the lines

While the poor unfortunates died by the thousands in the bloody frontline.