He calls it an
He thinks it's fun and games.
To go out there, to fight and defend
Is one of his many aims.
He walks around so silently,
Father says: "It's your own choice."
And I can't bear to think that I
May never again hear his voice.
He goes to town so suddenly,
We know what's on his mind.
He comes back, indeed, dressed in khaki,
But, dear brother, it's horror you'll find.
So soon, the train is leaving,
Is he gone for evermore?
Will we ever hear his step again
As he comes whistling through the door?
In many days he writes to us,
Oh joy! he is all right!
But how he hates the war,
Though for our country he will fight.
After many long years it is over, he is back,
But in the form of a ghost.
We won the battle, but paid the price,
It is impossible to boast.
For others, too, lie among the poppies.
Still, we will remember them
And treasure our hard earned freedom,
As if it were a precious gem.
Yes, we know just what to do,
We must try to stop all war!
And if in this we can succeed
Then world wide peace will reign once more.