You were killed at 7:31 a.m, July 6th 1915 at the Battle of the Somme
One minute after the execution of your regiment to charge towards
The furious glare of sunlight
The thunder of sentries
Firing bolts of metal
To crash, break and rip everyone around you
Trampling, clambering over each other
Bloodcurdling yells stopped by their choking
Stamped out by the whizzing hail of bullets
And no time to accept fate in the suicide mission
As your mind is punctured by the enemy
And fragments of your skull bristles the red hill
Splashed of your blood which pumped the heart
That cared for so many, now exposed as mortar fire
Shreds through your cavity and dismembers
The broken dreams and broken limbs
You once had.

You were remembered by the dwindling few
Of who you were back home, before the draft.
How many were killed, how little they know
That you truly died as you said your Goodbyes.