WHAT IS IT FOR?

When I was a child, talk all around
Was so often about “The War,”
But they never answered me when I asked:
“Please, what was it, and what was it for?”
They talked of exciting times they’d had,
With great Zeppelin ships overhead,
Then they lowered their voices and talked some more
About all the men who were dead.

They talked about wounded soldiers,
With red ties, in bright blue clothes,
And they told me when I asked again
That my Dad had been one of those.
I knew my Dad had a hurting foot
That had somehow come from “The War,”
But they still wouldn’t answer when I asked:
“Please, what was it, and what was it for?”
Then a new War came along and was called
“The War”, onwards from that day,
But where and why, I didn’t know,
And no grownup would say.
And soon in the village people were sad,
And I heard: “He’s been killed in “The War!”
But I never heard, even a whisper,
What it was, or what it was for.

I was busy at school, didn’t heed the news,
And six years went rushing past,
And “The War” went on and people died,
Until it was ended at last.
And now I am old and look back down my years,
At “The War” and, since then, all the others,
It seems all my dimming eyes can see
Is a myriad heartbroken mothers.
And so, when I reach wherever I’m going,
I must ask, before anything more:
“This thing called “The War,” that people have:
Please, what is it, and what is it for?”
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