Remembering

Why do you march old man, with medals on your chest?
Why do you grieve old man, for those friends you laid to rest?
Why do your eyes still gleam old man, when you hear the bugles blow?
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 I laid to rest.
Through misty fields of gossamer silk come visions of distant times
When boys of such a tender age marched forth to battle lines.

We buried them in a blanket shroud, their young flesh scorched and blackened.
In a communal grave so newly dug in bloodstained gorse and bracken.
And you ask me why I march young man - I march to remind you all
That but for those apple-blossomed youths, you’d never know freedom at all !

Freedom Isn’t Free!