Can you hear the songbirds?
They are loft within the sky.
Can you hear the thunder
of the machine guns as they cry?
I stood at the field,
the one by passers gate.
I saw the field blosom with red,
and an inevitable fate.
I saw him across the field,
across the sea of red.
I saw my one and only son
slowly bleed to death.
He called my name out boldly,
and then more softer it grew.
He was slain and forever bleeding,
amongst the morning dew.
I ran across the field,
through the fallen dead.
I ran to where my son was slain,
and he slowly bled.
I held him in my arms,
and slowly rocked his fears.
I splattered his whitened face
with my pain filled tears.
I held him as he died
within my loving embrace.
He dissapeared slowly,
to his real resting place.
So now upon a fallen field,
which on epitaphs will stand.
He'll be another name for the lost
of the thousands who died for this land;
Somme.
