The Long War (by Laurie Lee)

Less passionate the long war throws its burning thorn about all men, caught in one grief, we share one wound and cry one dialect of pain. We have forgot who fired the house, whose easy mischief spilt first blood, under one raging roof we lie the fault no longer understood. But as our twisted arms embrace the desert where our cities stood, death’s family likeness in each face must show, at last, our brotherhood.