Stark glows the first light, slow grows the dawn-light The birds hardly stirring, the day scarce begun A new sun is rising, to light the horizon Of the last day, for this mother’s son
Chorus: When the poppy blooms red in November The bells ring on Armistice Day Remember that forgotten soldier And hallow the spot where he lays
His crime it is proven, his actions guilt woven The sentence of death is passed and must stand The general staff deeming, no ray of hope gleaming Eighteen years a boy and one month a man
No regiment owns him, his comrades must scorn him No rank or insignia graces his sleeve In full martial purdah, and judicial murder, Alone he must stand as this life he leaves
The firing party contains scarce a hearty, Each one ill at ease standing nervous and tense, The order a loud shout, a volley it rings out, Eighteen short summers have come to an end.
Your memories linger, as each page is fingered, Of history’s years that roll by and away A sad anger haunting, the thought ever taunting, For the Blimps and the donkeys are still here today