Somme

Twenty thousand, sealed on that terrible day,
Found themselves knocking at heaven's gate.
"It begins," muttered a long-time resident saint,
Watching the recruits in resigned dismay;

And seeing none whom on earth he held dear,
Returned to his work and bowed his head;
Until another saintly creature said,
"A million souls within the year

May find our lustrous cloud crashing in
By weight of men and blood-soaked ground!"
And so they regarded the swelling sound,
Which seemed a mixture of gunfire and sin.