Francis Ledwidge

He seemed such a gentle person i could never understand Why he ever died in battle took a rifle in his hand By his splendid verse he's still remembered and memories of him still remain But he might have lived to be an old man and enjoyed a greater fame. I could never ever fathom how he ever chose to die In a fight for British glory underneath an alien sky As his verses were all gentle in them no bloodshed or tears And his life was taken from him when he should have lived for years. It's a tragic loss for Ireland that's what Lord Dunsany said When he heard that Francis Ledwidge in a foreign field lay dead He had lost his life in battle many many miles away From his home in the 'Royal County' where he'd lived for many a day. He will always be remembered as an Irish Nature poet And no Irish bard since Ledwidge finer Nature poems have wrote Seems a shame that his flowering genius was cut off in it's prime And that war had took from Mother Ireland her greatest son of rhyme. He was called 'Poet of the Blackbird' the name he's remembered by And his songs as fresh as ever and his songs will never die And every time i hear a blackbird piping in the wind and rain I recall the songs of Ledwidge the immortal Bard of Slane.