Question

I SING the song of the great clean guns that belch forth death at will.
Ah, but the wailing mothers, the lifeless forms and still
I sing the songs of the billowing flags, the bugles that cry before.
Ah, but the skeletons flapping rags, the lips that speak no more!
I sing the clash of bayonets and sabres that flash and cleave.
And wilt thou sing the maimed ones, too, that go with pinned-up sleev
I sing acclaimed generals that bring the victory home.
Ah, but the broken bodies that drip like honey-comb!
I sing of hearts triumphant, long ranks of marching men.
And wilt thou sing the shadowy hosts that never march as
arefully and think of a suitable title to this poem. (1)
Nders Lite​

Answer 1

Answer:

A Song Of......

If it were me then I would have chosen this title.

Hope this helps!!!