The street sounds to the
soldiers' tread,
My man, from sky to sky's so far,
What thought at heart have you
and I
And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
He turns and looks at me.
We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the
world's ends are.
We're like to meet no more;
We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
Soldier, I wish you well.
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Page last updated: 11 November 1998 ©1998-1999, Richard J. Yanco |