In ’82, when autumn turned to flame,
Two nations spoke in duty’s name.
Far from home, on windswept shore,
The Falklands heard the call of war.
Steel met sky, and sea ran red,
Young men marched where angels tread.
Flags were raised on rocky land,
Clutched in a trembling, calloused hand.
The sheep still grazed, the wind still cried, while mothers wept for sons who died.
No victors walked that haunted tide, just silence where the lost reside.
From Port Stanley to San Carlos Bay,
Echoes linger to this day. Of Harrier wings and silent decks, Of sunken ships and final texts.
Yet even where the cannon spoke,
Some shred of human grace awoke.
A letter home, a glance, a prayer— Proof that the soul still lingers there.
So let the island grasses grow,
Where peace now roots in soil below.
And may we learn through storm & flame. That war forgets, but hearts still name.
© LGudge60, Llewellyn Gudgeon