Stopping Beside The Monument To A Hero
Whose body this is I do not know.
He is not my brother though;
Sherlock will see us standing here
To watch his grave fill up with earth.
My little brother must think it queer
To stand without my agents near
Between the stones and monuments
The saddest day of my brother's life.
He'll give his curly head a shake
If he thinks to ask, was his death a mistake?
The only sight right now is the tears
On the face of every friend he had
The soldier will be lonely, desperate and sad.
But my brother made promises he intends to keep,
And many to take down before he returns,
And many to take down before he returns.