Tread gently

Tread gently on this foreign field, for it lies soaked in blood
That flowed across this battlefield, a tragic crimson flood
The names of those who fell near here, are muttered now by few
A brave and selfless sacrifice, the living would all rue

Tread gently on this foreign field, I am every mother’s son
Who saw my face at every dawn and each setting sun
She kept her lonely vigil, till eternity claimed her soul
Her tears no longer wash my name, upon an honour roll

Tread gently on this foreign field and dare not caste your scorn
On all that I could have been and descendants now unborn
For we all charged like Lemmings, for country and for crown
And in the flower of our youth, we were all cut down

Tread gently on this foreign field and remember all those lost
Their legend, part of history that came at too great a cost
For the horse that stands unbridled and an empty chair at home
Memories of the loved ones, who lie beneath this loam

Tread gently on this foreign field, the wretched path I trod
Now I lie without a name , that is known only to God
A farmer’ plough may strike my bones and I might find a grave
But weep you not for my past, it’s your future you must save

 

By Tomas ‘Paddy’ Hamilton
7 May 2017

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