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A Father's loss


How you've grown my son
Respected by our clan
Let me shake your hand
How you've grown.

How you're standing tall my son
Brass buttons shining bright
Leaving soon to join the fight
How you're standing tall.

How you march so fine my son
Rifle on your shoulder
Going where the weather's colder
How you march so fine.

How you stood waving my son
As the ship left the quay
Travelling across the open sea
How you stood waving.

How you sent letters my son
The stench of death abound
On that bloody battleground
How you sent letters.

Now you'll never return my son
Forever to remain over there
Entombed under French mud somewhere
Now you'll never return.



David J Delaney
28/11/2008    ©


Inspired by the recent discovery of 170 Diggers in a mass grave on the former battle fields of France.






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A Father`s loss