A WIND THAT BLOWS.

 

Our future now bereft of all time

These lives were ours to give

Beneath the skies of this shackled land

We strive to offer you freedom

 

They call us warriors of God and Kings

But are we not just flesh and blood

Our mothers shed tears of mourning

As each one of us stumble and falls

 

The wind that blows shall kiss your face

From the boys that heard your calling

A gentle reminder that we were once here

Lost voices from England's fallen

 

The bugler plays to us, one last time

His rallying call at sunrise

We march together against its cold chill

The wind that blows from the skies

 

Weep not for the lives that were lost here

Or the harrowing sights we have seen

We are Manchester Pals bound together in death

Our spirits retained by your dreams

 

The thirst of the poppy seems unquenchable

Our links to your world, we must sever

Quiet wind that blows across these fields

Shall whisper our names forever

 

Joyous pride that I fought alongside them

Into hell we marched shoulder to shoulder

Pray our long silent voices shall not be forgotten

God's army of Little Boy Soldiers.

 

Private George Arthur Cummings.

Montauban. Western Front. France 1916.