He Was A Boy

He was just nineteen years with a younger teenage brother
Admired by his proud father and loved by his loving mother
But words cannot describe the way that they now are feeling
And the mental wounds of grief the slowest scars for healing.

That he died for his Country's flag in the service of his Nation
To those who loved and admired him is of little consolation
Just one more statistic of war he has fought his final battle
And in war young lives are taken cheap gunned down like diseased cattle.

He was just nineteen so young to die his family broken hearted
So young to lay in a cemetery with some of life's departed
To his grave his mum and dad often take flowers till their own deaths they will remember
The son they lost so far away one morning in September.

He was a boy so young to die for patriotic glory
And maybe one day of his life some one will write the story
He did not even have the chance to father a son or daughter
He went off young to die in war like a lamb to the slaughter.