Aged 15 he went to war,
Died when he was so raw.
A young boy at the front line,
A grave with his name marks his sign.
In the fearless Rifle Brigade,
To bypass the checks he found a way.
A young boy who went to war,
Not much of the world that he saw.
So many people died with him,
But most of them had a kin,
To mourn their death or their wound;
But all he had was a mournful mother,
And all she could do was emotionally smother,
His young grave in Essex Farm
Marked with Valentine J Strudwick.
