Nineteen-fourteen, the battle for Mons
First mass offensive on a foreign shore
Two tribal gatherings, juxtaposed
Intent upon the brutal art of war
My grandfather, still a young man
I see him now, astride that gelding horse
Above the thundering hooves that lifted soil
He galloped hard across the burning gorse
I see him now, upon that desperate ride
Important message clutched within his hand,
Racing down the lethal lines of fire,
A signal delivered to the high command
Then back, returning down that torrid line
With guns and rifles blazing all around
Dodging the shrapnel and the mortal fire
Deafened by the conflagration sound
Mentioned in dispatches for his deeds
His courageous act above the call, beyond
Although grandfather bravely soldiered on
He never made it to the river Somme
