MY PALS

[Administrator]

MY PALS

We sailed from old England across the grey sea,
Gaining the beach at French Normandy,
In a dip in the soil I looked around,
Seeing our Fred smacked to the ground,

Then I spied Harry bloodied and still,
Alongside a mate, alas it's poor Bill.
Shouting us on, our tough Sergeant Bruce,
With holes in his helmet and arm hanging loose,

Onward and upward we tried to gain cover,
Hearing a young man crying for Mother,
There were blinded and limbless spread on the sand,
Some calling for medics to give `em a hand.

Loaded with backpacks the going was tough,
Shooting and running we made for the bluff,
Soon I found Tommy shot through the neck,
The havoc and carnage continued on yet,

My colleagues, my friends, comrades in arms,
Dropping like flies with guns in their palms.
Too many men I have known for so long,
Lay wounded or dead or simply just gone,

We fought on the grounds - in from the sea,
For freedom, for God, for whole victory,
I do so remember - will never forget,
My pals from old England - laying there yet.

Joe Earl