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They Now Stand Rightfully

Bronze, not gold
Glitters, not glisters
Shelled, not shellaced
Empty, since then
On the Somme
Designed to reign death
Fired by pins
Hammered through metal skins
With companions who fell
On to men 'neath mud hells
Krakked open with sin
Taking lives from within
Trenched horror and blood
But not my souvenirs
Sitting calm on my hearth
Carrying long incensed sticks
Unable to stand
Falling 'gainst inner sides
Of two old brass shells
Unable to kill
So, some saved at the Somme
Some peace has been done
Brassed off with war?