Old soldier you are, though here you are young,
You are probably now dead and gone
But when you left you were not more than twenty-one.
Did you die of old age?
Or did you fall long ago on the banks of the Somme?
I imagine your sweetheart would gaze
At this image and dream
Of looking into your clear eyes of blue
Or maybe green
Or perhaps some amalgam, like hazel,
Neither one nor the other, but in between.
Yours was the loveliest face she had ever seen.
You kissed her ‘fore leaving
With the promise you’d marry
On your return—your promise was firm
You wouldn’t tarry.
You’d take over your father’s farm
You would love each other
Your babies she’d carry.
Tell me, soldier, did your dreams come true?
Did you come back ruined or not at all?
Were your bones laid to rest
Where you happened to fall?
My dear man, what happened to you?