Colin F. Jones


A soldier in the mess did sit
When a bullet struck his head,
He was not even aware of it,
And now he lay there dead.

A buddy was two rooms away
Playing with his gun,
When it discharged; it fired hey!
And what was done was done.

In battle all soldiers do not die,
Some cop it from a mate,
When they do then comes the lie,
Which alters not his fate.

So who reports a murder then,
When a soldier kills his own,
‘Tis ink that reaches not the pen,
As many reports have shown.