D - Day Minus one
Why do you still march old man,
With medals on your chest?
Why do you still grieve old man,
For those friends you laid to rest?
Why do your eyes gleam old man,
When you hear those bugles blow?
Tell me why you cry old man
About those days so long ago?
I’ll tell you why I march young man,
With medals on my chest.
I’ll tell you why I grieve young man,
For those I laid to rest.
Through misty fields of gossamer silk
Come visions of distant times.
When boys of tender age lost lives
And all their mothers pined.
We buried them in blanket shroud,
Their young flesh scorched and blackened.
A communal grave, newly gouged,
In blood stained gorse and bracken.
And you ask me why I march young man
I march to remind you all.
That but for those apple blossom youths,
You’d never have known freedom at all.