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The Bairn ©

Ian Gordon
Tayport, Scotland

You are a lucky bairn sitting in your pram,
Dressed up sae bonny by your loving mam,
A cheeky smile is on your face,
So - welcome to the human race.

Your pram is the colour of your eyes, dark blue,
And with a shiny body, to me it looks brand new,
Who will you look like when you grow older?
Will you be the image of your daddy gone to be a soldier?

He's gone to fight in the Great War for Country and for King,
This war it will end all wars so listen for the Church bells ring,
He will be living in the mud in a rat infested trench,
And in his nose the smell of death a vile and noxious stench.

He will be fighting for his life and others he must kill,
With comrades dying all around they must capture yonder hill,
The trenches are a vivid red, coloured by the young men's blood,
Boys of only 16 years lie crying, dying, to be buried in the mud.

The battlefield is a hellish place, the guns roar out like thunder,
The piercing screams of dying men their souls the enemy plunder,
"Oh God! Have mercy on me, please save me from this sorrow
Let me see my bairn, just one time, before you take away my tomorrow".

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