"The March to Tophet"

He spoke of his mother
That it should be she that places a
Cooling hand on his fevered brow
Slakes his thirst
Tells him he is her brave little soldier
And gives him the lie that all will be well

Why Oh Why Lord
Did England dress this boy in mans clothing
And march him to Tophet
To the thunder of drums
Condemned to the sulphurous gas and flames
A doomed youth lay at my feet

I wet a cloth and wipe his brow
Moisten his mouth, hold his hand
And hum to him a lullaby
Hush my child and sleep
Sleep my brave little soldier
Sleep and all will be well.

By J.C. Gleeson