how can they be dying here all morning
faster than two a minute? You start to count
and you find that when you add the wounded
they are tumbling over, like a storm
of autumn leaves, almost as you blink.
Read the full poem 'A Fine Morning at Passchendaele' by New Zealand poet and writer Kevin Ireland, and learn about his time in Belgium visiting Tyne Cot cemetery, near Passchendaele, where he read his poem in a commemoration in 2019.
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