Down beats the drummer’s hand to lead them on their way.
Faultlessly they marched in line, no single stride astray.
Immaculate from head to toe, this military perfection;
These highly polished men, today in personal reflection.
With heads held high and shoulders back, they carry him with pride;
Their ally and their friend, who on the battlefield had died.

The English breeze caressed the air and dried the springtime dew;
As children watched in wonder at the draped red, white and blue.
He was just a boy himself, yet the job had made him older.
To most he was a fearsome sight, an armed and dangerous soldier.
But to his doting mother, who now numb forever more;
He’d always be her tender son, snatched from her by war.

The streets were lined with mourners: those he knew and had not met;
There to do their duty and whisper, “We shall not forget”.
He spent his life in service, to his Country, to his Queen;
He gave his life for freedom, a better future, now unseen.
The essence of a British heart: proud and brave and loyal;
Returning home to peaceful rest, within the British soil.