Lest we Forget

Why do you march, old man,
with medals on your chest?
Why do you grieve, old man,
for friends long laid to rest?

Why do your eyes still gleam, old man,
when you hear the bugle’s cry?
Tell me, why do you cry, old man,
for 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 that in the cold cruel seas do rest.

Through misty seas of gossamer silk
come visions of distant times,
When the boys of tender age
sailed forth to distant climes.

We buried them in a seaman’s shroud,
their young flesh scorched and blackened;
Blood-stained sea, their communal grave-
even a headstone lacking

And you ask me why I march, young man;
I march to remind you all
That but for those bygone youths,
you would never have know freedom at all.

Mrs Bette Pim