An open drawer, a woman lowly kneeling,
Some little crimson shoes, a lock of hair,
Some childish toys, an engine and a trumpet,
A headless horse, a battered Teddy bear.
Some school-boy books all inky, torn and thumb-marked,
A treasured bat, his favourite cricket ball,
The things he loved, the letters that he wrote to her -
And now she places on top of all
A soldier's sword, his photograph, in khaki -
The boyish eyes smile back into her eyes,
While in her hand she holds a V.C. tightly.
And in her heart a grave in Flanders lies.