Over one hundred years have passed since your poem was written

I am in Whitstable today with my family

The sun is high in the sky and everything is calm

Small children are playing with vacant oyster shells

Whilst their parents paddle quietly in the sea

Above me umber moths hide in the coastal trees

Waiting for the evening breeze

Their camouflage does not fool me

I look at my small soldiers book

Nobody is aware of your poem

Why should they be?

The waxed cloths idle are silent

Their duties spent

And the dead have been laid to rest

Anniversaries count for little these days

Which is rather sad

As all is quiet once more on the Givenchy Field