| Comrades | |
| Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1915) | |
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As I was marching in Flanders A ghost kept step with me— Kept step with me and chuckled And muttered ceaselessly: “Once I too marched in Flanders, The very spit of you, And just a hundred years since, To fall at Waterloo. “They buried me in Flanders Upon the field of blood, And long I’ve lain forgotten Deep in the Flemmish mud. “But now you march in Flanders, The very spit of me; To the ending of the day’s march I’ll bear you company. |
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| Back | |
| Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1915) | |
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They ask me where I’ve been, And what I’ve done and seen. But what can I reply Who know it wasn’t I, But someone just like me, Who went across the sea And with my head and hands Killed men in foreign lands... Though I must bear the blame Because he bore my name. 
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Next page > “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae (1915)... |
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