Back from the war

 

 

Back from the war, why didn’t you say,

No telegram. I would have expected that.

That’s what anybody would expect

Of their husband of twenty two years.

 

Back from the war effort, more like.

Our boy, gagging in a muddy trench 

In some corner of a foreign field

And me, doing the requisitions in Halifax.

 

There’s only this bit of stew

Left over from lunch, and no beer.

I’d have sent out for some had I known.

I’d have baked some bread.

 

Light the fire Vera, it’s cold in here

And damp. What news of the boy?

Is he alive? Is he well?

Will he be home for Christmas?

 

There’s been no news of any good

Sixty thousand dead on one day, they say –

A million more on both sides

And no beer for my boys.

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