He will not wake to another reveille

For he left his life in Death’s shadowed valley

A young man remembered, growing no older

No more than a boy, yet was ne’er a man bolder

I am his Father, I am his Mother

I am his Captain, his sister, his brother

I am his child, though never we met

Standing in line whether shining or wet

To place a wreath on a stone on a frosty morn

To honour the terrible loss, proudly borne.