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Goodbye old friend, you've served me well;
you did your job throughout this hell.
Exhausted - now you're lying here;
within your eyes I see the fear.

My pal is calling...let him go,
he'll never learn, he'll never know
how dire it is to lose a friend,
but I'll stay with you to the end.

And if the Hun should come before
you've breathed your last in this damn war,
then, so be it, I'll die with you,
for loyal friends must see it through

until the end, when we'll be seen
as one - once more on England's green
and pleasant land for which we fought,
to plough God's fields as we were taught.

I hear the bullets whizzing by,
the screaming men, the battle cry.
You lift your head to shield my heart,
and bullets tear your neck apart.

I hold you tight with bloodied hand,
I try to rise, I try to stand.
I feel the shrapnel from the shell--
Goodbye old friend, you served me well. 
January 8, 2018 3:19 pm
29 lines, 171 words