We are the pals brigade me lads,
the finest that you've seen.
We tilled the land just like our dads
or picked the coal black seam.
And now we're off to a foreign clime
to show Fritz a trick or two.
But we'll be back by Christmastime,
to spend it home with you.
We are the pals brigade me boys,
taking longer than we thought.
Battling through the mud and noise
for each inch of territory fought.
So keep the home fires burning dear
we'll be back before you know it.
But if we're to reap the harvest here,
well, first we have to sow it.
We are the pals brigade it's true,
battered and depleted.
We showed old Fritz a thing or two
and came home undefeated.
And now we've all made it back.
home après la guerre.
In serried ranks, on a plaque,
on the cenotaph in the square.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment