Spike

This is on the
BBC WW2 poetry website

UNDER THE LIBYAN SUN

Now I'll tell you the tale of a soldier,
And it's never been told before,
Who counted the days to his wedding,
To the girl we would love and adore.

One morning I gave him a letter,
Then I looked at his face in surprise,
For as he was reading this letter,
Tear welled up in his eyes.

So here is the tale of the Tommie,
Whose sweetheart had never been true,
A Yank was the cause of the trouble,
That made him go up in the blue.

If she'd been the girl she should have
He would have been raising a son,
Instead he's kicking up daisies,
Under the Libyan sun.

Now you've hear of the place called Benghazi,
Where some of the fighting was done,
It was there that this poor British Tommie,
Went down to an old 'Itie' gun.

They carried him on a stretcher,
His blood stained the desert sands red,
He raised himself up on one elbow,
And these are the last words he said.

Please bury me out in the desert,
My duty to England is done,
So bury me out in the desert,
Under the Libyan sun.

So they buried him out in the desert,
All Allah to watch over his grave,
He now lies out there with his comrades,
His life for old England he gave.

And now that we're all in blighty,
The battle is over and won,
Just think of the boys left behind us,
Under the Libyan sun.

Phil